(Untitled)

{This story is based on Dara's parents. NOT my own. MY parents are loving, caring, and definitely NOT the head of a criminal organization. Just wanted to clear that up. ;o) }

Daramis carefully slid her legs over the windowsill and dropped silently to the ground. It had been easy getting this far. Too easy. She was nervous, on edge, expecting a trap at any moment. A dozing guard belatedly caught sight of her and raised his blaster. Before he could bring it into line, however, Daramis rapped his skull soundly with the butt of her own weapon. He slid noiselessly down the wall into a heap. After binding him securely with a rope from around her waist and stuffing him in a corner, gagged, Daramis wet her lips and glanced around. Things had changed slightly since she had been here last; this used to be her parent's reception room. Now it looked more like a storehouse. No matter. She knew every inch of this compound; she would find what she had come for.
There was only the one guard in the room, so Dara concluded that the contents of the assorted crates and boxes couldn't be that valuable. She opened one and found herself proven wrong. It was filled with blaster rifles. The crate beside it contained handguns--DL-44s--and the next held charges. She frowned. It was unlike her father to keep such items so loosely guarded. She then shrugged, sure he had his reasons. She collected a rifle, shoved an extra handgun into her belt, giving her three in all, and clipped a dozen charges onto the leather band that was draped from her right shoulder to her left hip.
There was only one door in the room, and it led to a hall. With the old layout, turning right should have led her to her parents' bedroom. But now the hallway was dim that direction, and Dara wasn't sure what the room had been converted into. Going left eight years ago would have taken her to the kitchens; she had taken many clandestine trips there in the night. The chef had been quite fond of her. She turned that way on the off-chance that those hadn't been moved. Dara smiled at the memory of old Tannel. He had been her refuge when her father was angry. He could be counted on to tuck her in some corner, then refuse to let her father in, threaten to quit until he left. Hal knew that Tannel was the best chef to be had and he wasn't taking the chance on losing him. He would leave, but Dara would spend the next hour or so in the kitchens with Tannel until her father cooled down. Tannel always had a special treat for her after school, as well.
Daramis headed for the kitchens cautiously, her soft-soled boots not making a sound. Her all-black apparel, from the headband keeping the hair out of her eyes to the boots, helped her blend in against the black-painted walls. It would be hard for a casual glance to pick her out. There were no guards in sight, which was very odd. There should have been at least two or three making their rounds. As she reached the end of the hallway, she could hear a loud, accented voice yelling behind the end door. A huge smile broke across Dara's face.
"You stay out of my kitchens, hey? I still know how to cook, you know? It's time you left me alone to my work and stopped worrying, hey. I should maybe go find another job that includes peace and quiet, hey?"
There was another voice, but Daramis couldn't make out the words.
"You maybe go tell Big Boss to leave the worries to myself. I be handling the work for longer than you been around, kid, hey? Go on, scat."
This time Daramis could hear the reply. It was a long series of curses. Tannel laughed loudly and a door closed. Dara waited until she could hear Tannel whistling--a sure sign that he was alone--before carefully keying the doorpad with an override code. The door slid open silently and Daramis found herself staring at Tannel's back as he reached for something in a high cupboard. She slipped inside quickly and crouched in a corner, waiting for Tannel to notice her.
As he turned, his hands flew up in the air and he uttered a short prayer to his ancestors, the metal bowl flying out of his grasp. "Mistress Dara, what do you mean by scaring Tannel like that?"
Daramis smiled, stood up, and crossed over to him. He wrapped her in a crushing embrace. "Daramis, you maybe been gone too long? Why have you come back now, hey? You maybe know your mom and dad, they aren't too happy with you?"
Dara smiled ruefully. "Yeah, Tannel. I know."
"Then you maybe wanna tell me why you are here? It wasn't to see Tannel, now was it, hey?"
She shook her head. "No. I didn't even know if you were still here. Believe it or not, I'm here to see my parents. I want to talk to them."
Tannel clicked his tongue. "That maybe not be such a good idea, little D. They maybe get mad, hey? Then what?"
"I can take care of myself, Tannel. Really."
He let her loose and shook his finger at her. "Now, Dara, you maybe been out in the galaxy on your own for some years, but Hal, he's not like anyone you run into out there."
"I don't know about that, Tannel. I've crossed paths with some pretty nasty characters. And don't forget, I lived with him for sixteen years. I know what to expect, and I'm prepared."
Tannel looked her up and down, his eyes taking in the three blasters at her belt, the rifle she carried, and the dozen plus extra charges attached to her bandoleer. "I would say you were, hey? And I'm maybe guessing your holdout in your sleeve, a vibroblade in your pocket, another in your boot, and your lightsaber maybe at your belt, hey?"
Dara smiled. "No lightsaber, Tannel. Not tonight."
The chef nodded. "I'm thinking that's maybe a good idea. It was you flying away to play at the Jedi that maybe sent your dad over the edge."
"I wasn't playing, no matter what he said. But maybe he'll be happy now," Dara said softly. "Say, Tannel, what's with the new layout? Why is that wing of the compound empty?" She jerked a thumb at the door through which she had entered.
Tannel smiled. "Now there's maybe proof that you will survive your encounter with your parents, hey? When you moved out, so did your parents. They moved their quarters from the north side to the south side. They maybe didn't want the memories every time they passed your room, hey? There are now only four, five people here that remember you. But Wanda, she left your room the way you did. You go in there now, you maybe find it the way you left it, hey? Clean, too. That wing is but storage."
Dara raised her eyebrows. "So they moved to get away from me, even though I was already gone?"
There was a knock at the kitchen door before Tannel could answer. "You maybe hide yourself, little D. I cannot tell them to go away."
Dara nodded curtly and disappeared.
Tannel opened the door and spoke with the man standing there for a few moments, then hurried him away with more threats of quitting. He turned from the door to find Daramis emerging from a large cupboard. It had been her favorite hiding place as a child and it was still empty. Surprisingly, she still fit into it. She brushed dust from her clothing.
"Where are my parents now?"
"Might be that they are in their reception room, hey? They have company--big company. So important it has them thinking that Tannel maybe doesn't know how do his job the good way, you know? I tell them all the day--leave Tannel alone. I'm doing a job that is fine, hey?" The face he made was so comical that Daramis had to laugh. "The company should be gone in one, two maybe hours."
"Is that where all the guards are?"
He smiled broadly. "Little D, you have no become stupid, hey? You remember maybe that show is everything in your father's business. Yes, that is where all the guards are, except for two guards that are still in the north side. One in the storage room, one outside, hey?"
Dara nodded. She had run into the storage room guard, but had apparently missed the outside guard. That was a little odd, but not unusual. There was a lot of ground to cover on the north side.
"You are doing what while your parents are busy?"
Dara smiled. "I'm going to go see my room."
"All right, little D. You remember maybe the way, hey?"
"Yes, Tannel. I remember maybe the way." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and left the kitchen the way she had come in. Tannel returned to his preparations.
The dim hallway was still empty. Dara had no trouble recalling which room was hers. She strode purposefully down the corridor until she reached the fourth door on the left from the far end. She keyed the door and it opened easily.
Memories poured around her as she gazed about the spacious room.


Daramis approached her dad, waving a flimsi. "Dad, I got top grades in my class," she proudly proclaimed.
Her father laughed, a deep booming laugh that never failed to send tingles down her back and swept her up in his arms. "Now how did you manage that, Little Bit? Your instructor is forever complaining that you don't pay any attention in class."
She grinned broadly as he set her down. "Class is boring. He reads the textbook. I can read it just as well as he can."
"I seem to recall your proving that," Hal Mcejo said with a chuckle. "The professor wasn't at all pleased when you turned the class into a reading circle."
"No, he wasn't. I don't care. That's one of the few lessons that the entire class aced the quiz the next day. Obviously they learned what he wanted them to learn."
He shook his head. "And you've got to learn to settle down, Daramis. You're forever breaking rules that weren't meant to be broken."
She looked him in the eye. "Some rules have to be broken, Dad. Otherwise things will never improve. You do it for a living."
He flinched slightly at that. "But the things you try just aren't done. You need to be a little more selective with your actions."
She sighed. "I'll try, Dad. Now, when do I get it?"
He feigned ignorance. "Get what?"
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Very funny. My droid. You said if I got top grades you'd give me a droid. When do I get him?"
A large grin spread across her father's face. "He's waiting in your room."
With a cry of delight, Dara sprang from her father's side and ran to her room. Laughing, he followed. Just before she opened the door, she paused.
"Wait a minute. How did you know I would pull top scores?"
"Daramis, there was never a doubt in my mind."
Her father's confidence in her abilities made her swell with pride as she opened the door and pounced upon droid waiting inside.


Dara moved inside the room and shut the door behind her. Tannel was right, as usual. Nothing had been touched. She smiled fondly as she looked at her collection of stuffed creatures. Her father had bought her one when he went away on business--if he remembered. About half the time he forgot, which was all right; he had been gone so frequently, she would have had had to get another room just to store them.


"Daramis!" her mother called. "Your father's home!"
Dara tossed her datapad aside--right at the exciting part of the bookchip, too--and rolled off her bed. She bounded across the room, ran into the hall, and nearly knocked her mother down in her excitement. She could hear her father talking to one of the guys, but she didn't care. Careening down the hall at breakneck speeds, she barreled into her father's outstretched arms.
"Dad!" she cried. "I missed you!"
He smiled and patted her head fondly. "I missed you, too, Little Bit. Here." He thrust a stuffed bantha at her. "Now run along. Feriwu and I have things to discuss."
Hurt flickered across Dara's face for a brief instant, but she quickly hid it behind a smile. "Thanks, Dad. Will I see you at dinner?"
He hesitated a moment. "No, Daramis. I think not. Your mother and I have a meeting with a client, and we'll be going out tonight. I'll have Tannel cook you something special."
This time the hurt showed a little longer, and Dara didn't smile. She turned away, instead. "Great. I'll be in my room if you need me." She started back down the hall, muttering, "which is about as likely as Corellia turning into a black hole." Her dad, thankfully, did not hear her. He would have had something to say about her "lack of respect." His attention was firmly set on what he was saying to Feriwu.
Dara tossed the stuffed creature on top of the pile with all the rest and returned to her bookchip.


There were stacks of bookchips in the corner. Dara walked over and looked through them. There were all her favorites: Little Lost Bantha Cub from when she was a child, Slaying Dragons from when she had first been enthralled with the Jedi, and several dozen novels, including Starships from Hapes, Lightsaber, Night of the Jedi, Ambassador to Death, Blaster Set on Kill, Hyperspace Murder, Credits in Advance, Night Glowrod, and Solo Flight, to name a few. She picked up a few of them and stuffed them into her pouch. They had been discontinued and were impossible to find.


"Daramis." Wanda Mcejo stood outside her daughter's door. "Daramis." She knocked. There was no point in trying to open the door. It was locked. It always was, and Dara had it wired in such a way that it thwarted any attempts to key an override. There was no answer. "Daramis!"
There was a muffled thud and footsteps, then a rumpled Dara appeared in the door, a datapad in her in her hand. "Yeah, Mom?"
"Get ready for dinner."
Dara blinked, looked at her chrono. Her eyes widened and she shoved her hand through her hair in an effort to smooth it down. "Can I eat in here?"
"No, Daramis. We have a client coming for dinner, and they're bringing their daughter."
"Do I know her?"
"I believe her name is Sharlotta."
Dara's mouth opened in horror. "Are you sure I can't eat in here?"
Wanda looked at her in exasperation. "No, Daramis. And I expect you to be on your absolute best behavior." She turned to go, then called over her shoulder. "Dress formal."
Dara slammed the door lock button and spun back into her room. She knew Sharlotta. They went to the same school, attended the same classes. She was one of the most stuck-up, snobbish girls Dara had met, and now she was expected to be nice! She would do it--to keep the peace between her and her mother. First day back at school, she would go right on ignoring her.
Dara opened her closet and chose a lovely blue silk dress, then strapped her holdout blaster on her left arm beneath the flowing sleeve. She brushed her hair and shook it out, then stuck a blue clip on the side to keep strands out of her face. She didn't bother to change her boots. Dara wasn't about to kill her feet with a pair of high heels. After slowly spinning in front of the mirror, she decided she was satisfied. Her mother, of course, would be horrified.
She went out into the hall and down to the kitchens. Maybe a quick visit with Tannel would prepare her for the evening.


Dara smiled at the recollection. Sharlotta had been as snobby as ever. She had pounced on the fact that the Mcejos had been catering to her parents and lorded it over Dara at school. Dara had put up with it as long as she could, then she pulled her aside and threatened her with bodily harm and a ruined reputation. A very pale Sharlotta had been more than willing to cooperate.
Dara moved to her closet. The clothing was not much smaller than what she wore now. She had reached her growth spurt early on and had been a very large teenager. She wasn't teased much, however. With her size came strength and agility, and she had been taught how to use them.


Daramis slammed her fist against the stiff punching dummy. It folded in around her fist and there was a snapping sound. The dummy faintly resembled a man and was made to feel like real flesh and bone when punched, kicked, or otherwise struck. Her instructor clapped twice, high praise.
"Very good, Miss Daramis." His words were very clipped, and his praise was hard-earned. "Now the kicks."
She ran through a series of kicks--side, roundhouse, front snap, and a few others--and earned a few words of encouragement. Her lesson was over after a few cool-down exercises. A quick thanks to her instructor and Daramis headed for the showers. She was dripping sweat after her weekly two and a half hour session. She worked at the techniques and did free weights an hour a day during the rest of the week.
Dara changed clothes and headed outside the public gym. Once again, her parents had offered to get her a private instructor, but, as with the school issue, Dara had opted to go with a public class. This time her parents had insisted, so they compromised. Instead of an instructor coming to the compound, Dara went into town, but she had one-on-one lessons, as opposed to a class setting. Dara had agreed. It was yet another excuse to get her away from the people at the compound. She knew perfectly well her parents had tagged her with a shadow, but there was little she could do about him. She had learned to pick him out wherever she was and had even spotted his substitute the few times he wasn't behind her.
Dara stepped on the street, her duffel bag over her shoulder. Her shadow tailed her about ten meters away. Her class had ended early today, due to the fact that her instructor was leaving for a three-day vacation that afternoon, so the transportation her parents had arranged was not waiting for her. Dara grinned. She would get to walk.
She set off down the street, sure her shadow was mad about her decision not to wait. He wouldn't stop her, though, and he wouldn't call her parents. In all the time he had been behind her, she had not seen him reach for his comlink, no matter what she did, and her parents never said a word.


Daramis reached her bed and sat down. It was as comfortable as she remembered. She looked at the bedside table and tears sprang to her eyes. It was a childhood holo of her and Cher'lindria. The blue-skinned Twi'lek looked genuinely happy. Now she was so strung out on spice she never knew what she was feeling. Dara considered taking the holo with her as well, then thought better of it. Some memories she didn't need.


"Daramis." Cher'lindria said flatly.
Thirteen-year-old Dara looked up from her book. "What?"
"Dara, why do you insist on reading? You're going to rot your brains out."
Dara frowned and set down the book. "I was reading about the Mystryl."
"Like that's gonna help you when you meet one."
Dara rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"
"Do you want to go for a ride?"
Daramis and Cher'lindria had just bought a pair of swoop bikes, and Cher was hot to ride them every chance she got.
After a long pause, Dara agreed. She set aside the bookchip and pulled on her boots. "Where are we going?"
Cher'lindria shrugged. "Oh, just out."
Dara frowned, but followed. She and Cher were still friends, but the Twi'lek had become more and more distant as her training progressed. Daramis supposed it was only natural. Her father had decided she would make the perfect assassin. Dara had been horrified, but Cher was thrilled with the idea. She had let it drop, although she still wasn't happy.
Now, at age seventeen, Cher'lindria had carried out four assassinations and was completely contented with her work. There were times when she was more happy than others, but she wouldn't answer when Dara questioned her.
They climbed on their bikes, informed the gate watch that they would be back in a couple hours, then gunned the engines. Dara glared at the guard who watched the barely-clad blue-skinned Twi'lek longer than appropriate. Cher simply smiled. Dara dutifully followed Cher for almost an hour before they reached a tiny alcove. Dara's eyes narrowed as she noticed another pair of speeders already parked. She pulled up.
"Cher'lindria," she demanded over the headset comlink they each wore in their helmets, "what is going on?"
Cher'lindria's voice was light as she swung around to face her friend. "Just some company, Dara. Couple of guys I met in town the other night."
Dara grew hot with anger. "No, Cher."
"What?"
"I said no. I'm not going with you. And you shouldn't go, either. I'm sure they're scum."
"You can't say that," Cher'lindria said vehemently. "You haven't even met them."
"And I'm sure their intentions are honorable, right?" She didn't even try to disguise the sarcasm and contempt in her voice.
Cher giggled. "Who cares?"
"You're hilarious, Cher. I'm not going."
A guy appeared in the entrance, a smile on his face. He was incredibly handsome. He yelled something Dara couldn't hear, but Cher obviously could. She flushed and waved at him to wait. "Come on, Dara. It'll be fun."
Dara twisted her back around so the nose pointed back toward the compound. "I'll see you later, Cher."
Cher said something in Twi'lek and turned away. Dara watched over her shoulder as she parked her bike next to the others and ran into the guy's arms. They disappeared into the alcove together.
Tears stinging her eyes, Dara headed back to the compound.


Dara heaved a sigh. Some memories were definitely better left unremembered. She looked around her room. It really was just as she had left it. There was even a jacket tossed over a chair and clothing strewn across the bed. She winced as she remembered the day she left.


"Daramis Sharii Mcejo!" Hal thundered. "Get in here!"
Dara calmly ignored him and continued folding clothes.
Buzz clanked into the room. "Daramis, your father wants to talk with you."
She glared at him. "I don't want to talk to him. It's not worth it. There are some things we'll never see eye to eye about. Like turning my best friend into an assassin and a spice addict. Like the Jedi. Like slavery."
A figure appeared in the doorway. Daramis, without turning her back, could sense his presence. "Go away."
Feriwu, a large, stocky man, stomped over to her. "Hal wants to see you," he growled, grabbing her shoulder.
She calmly disengaged her arm from his grasp and spun away. "Both of you can go chew on a blaster bolt," she bit out.
He tried to grab her again, but she knocked his arm away. Then his fist shot out. Dara knew it was coming, ducked, and slammed her own fist into his unprotected stomach. He doubled over with pain and Dara shoved him out of her room.
"And stay out, Feriwu!" She shut the door and locked it. Feriwu had never liked her. He did everything possible to get on her nerves, without making her mad enough to tell her father, but she knew he was scared to death of her.
"Daramis!" her father bellowed again, this time just outside her door.
Dara continued to ignore him. She shoved a final jumpsuit into the satchel and slung it over her shoulder. She stalked to the door and keyed it open.
Her father stood outside, red-faced and livid. "Daramis, you do not walk away when I am talking to you."
She smiled humorlessly. "Sorry, Hal. I did."
The use of his first name made him even more angry. "Daramis--"
She turned to her droid. "Buzz, go fire up the Ricochet. We're leaving."
"Daramis, you go back in your room right now!"
She looked at him calmly. "I will not stay in a place where assassination is condoned, murder approved, and slavery practiced. Unlike some people, I realize that there are some things that cross the line."
"Oh?" her father said sarcastically. "And who draws that line? CorSec?"
Dara squared her shoulders. "I'm not sure. But there is one, I'm sure. I'll find it."
"By training to be a Jedi?"
Fire flashed in her eyes. "Maybe. At least they don't deal in slaves. Just about anything is better than that."
Hal opened his mouth to say something, but Daramis brushed by him and walked down the hall. She had almost reached the door when her mother stopped her.
"Daramis, you're sixteen years old. You can't survive in the galaxy by yourself."
She shrugged. "Watch me. I'll think of something. Anything is better than staying here. You two have gone too far." She twisted around Wanda and out the door, slipping in one final dig. "Maybe I'll join CorSec."
"You are no longer my daughter, Daramis Sharii Mcejo!" Hal bellowed. "You are no relation to me. You are on your own!"
"Fine," Dara shot back. "I lost my parents a long time ago." She shut the door behind her, effectively cutting off her father's rantings. She headed for her ship at a fast clip, so absorbed with her thoughts that she didn't notice Tannel until he laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Little D," he cried. "Wait a minute, hey?" He was breathing heavily, having had to run to catch up. He thrust a package into her arms. "A little something from me. I'll miss you, Little D." He gave her a quick hug and hurried back inside.
Dara felt tears fill her eyes. She would miss Tannel. Then she ran up the ramp. It retracted behind her and Buzz fired up the repulsors. She stopped at her cabin to dump her stuff, then headed for the cockpit.


A single tear rolled down Dara's cheek. She brushed it away absently. Tannel had given her an assortment of her favorite foods, all he had had on hand. There was also a very pretty silver cape, long and flowy, with a note scrawled on a flimsi explaining it was a present he had been saving for her next lifeday.
Exhausted by the flood of memories and the fading adrenaline, Dara slumped on the bed and dozed.


"Daramis Mcejo?"
Dara nodded warily, looking over the silver-skinned humanoid that presented herself in front of the Corellian. She had just walked into the Silver Crescent and wasn't expecting to meet anyone. She was on a job hunt.
"Kuuy Daapa." She thrust out her hand.
Dara took it, and they shook.
"It's great to finally meet you," she said cheerfully, steering her toward the bar. The cantina was noisy and crowded. "I've heard a few stories about you."
Dara arched a skeptical eyebrow. "About me?"
"Well, maybe not you personally. You haven't been on your own long enough. Mainly about your parents."
Now Daramis was really surprised. A very select group of people knew about her parents. She narrowed her eyes. "What about them?"
Kuuy spread her hands and leaned against a stool. "Oh, nothing, really. Black Moon has been quiet for a couple months."
Suspicion bubbled up inside the young Corellian. "You know too much. I've got to be going." She started to move away, but Kuuy caught her hand.
"Don't go, Daramis. I didn't mean to scare you off. I just wanted to let you know I know what I'm doing." She pulled her back to a stool and ordered two flameouts from the bartender.
"All right," Dara said. "I'm convinced. What do you want?"
"I've got a job lead," Kuuy said, leaning forward. "It'll take a couple tricks to pull it off, and I don't think I can do it on my own. I'll need some help. Interested?"
"Maybe. Why ask me? You don't know me. Why not get someone you know you can trust?"
"A couple reasons, actually." Kuuy accepted the pair of drinks from the alien running the counter and pushed one over to Daramis. "First of all, I know you well enough. I've got my ear to the ground, and I've got some good contacts that know you. They say you're straight and that's good enough for me. Second, I don't know that many people I can trust to pull off this job properly." She thought for a second. "Correction: I don't know anyone that could pull it off." She flashed a rather mischievous smile. The third and main reason is that I wanted to meet the person who had the guts and morals to stand up to Hal and Wanda the way you did. It wasn't easy, I'm sure. I don't have that many friends, and I'm sure you don't right now, either."
Daramis looked at Kuuy silently for several moments, thinking hard.
"So," the girl said. "Are you in?"
A slow smile spread across Dara's face. "Yeah." She shook Kuuy's hand again. "I'm in."


"Little D."
She sat up abruptly at the sound of Tannel's voice, alarmed that she had been asleep. The blaster rifle dug into her side and she winced. "What?"
"Your parents are outside. Saying good-bye and hoping that they didn't offend, hey?" He smiled. "Hurry and go to the reception room. It is maybe better they don't meet you here. Too many memories, hey?"
"Yes," Dara agreed, following him out of the room. "Definitely too many memories."
They walked down the hall, through the kitchen and the staff's eating quarters, and into the south wing. There were many guards and other personnel, but Dara didn't recognize any of them. Many stared at her, and she could imagine their thoughts at seeing Tannel escorting a heavily-armed, dark-clad female to Hal and Wanda's reception room. She was about to go in when she spotted someone she did recognize. She caught sight of Dara as well, and her mouth formed an "o." Dara started to say something, but the blue-skinned Twi'lek spun on her heel and disappeared through a door. With a sigh, Dara entered the ostentatious reception room.
It was filled trinkets from all over the galaxy to prove how well-traveled Hal was, uncomfortable chairs to make the client want to conclude business and get to dinner faster, and wild art to show that Hal and Wanda were willing to take risks, or something like that. Opting not to sit, Dara stood in a corner at the back of the room, hand on her blaster, eyes watchful. Something in her stomach decided to turn cartwheels and somersaults. Dara studiously ignored it and listened to Tannel telling her father that there was someone in the reception room waiting for him, her father insisting that there couldn't be, and that he was tired anyway.
The voices drew nearer.
"I think maybe you want to see this person, Hal. You and Wanda both."
Hal heaved a sigh. "All right. It had better not take very long, and I'm not doing any more business tonight."
"No business," Tannel promise. "Memories."
She could imagine the look on Hal's face. "Have you been drinking, Tannel?"
Tannel laughed. "Go on, hey?"
The door opened.
Her hand tightened on her blaster, and she tried to forget that her father had wanted her, still wanted her, dead. Dara did not know how her mother felt.
Hal stood framed in the doorway, his eyes scanned the empty seats. Then his gaze focused on Dara and his expression hardened.
Wanda pushed past him. "Daramis?" she asked in a hushed, unbelieving whisper.
Dara nodded, unable to think of a suitable response.
Hal's eyes narrowed. "I thought I told you never to come back."
Dara stared back. "No. You didn't. You put an assassin on my trail, you disowned me, you cut me off from you, but you never said I couldn't come back."
They glared at each other for a moment. Dara half-drew her blaster. Hal's eye twitched. Dara didn't move a muscle. Hal quirked a smile, then burst out in a deep, booming laugh. "You came prepared, didn't you, Daramis?" His quick glance took in her dark apparel, the blaster rifle, the three blasters at her waist, and the extra charges clipped to the bandoleer.
She didn't smile. "Yes."
"Let go of the blaster, Daramis. I'm not armed, and no one will bother us."
Warily, Dara let the blaster slide back into the holster. She did not strap it down.
Sensing that some of the tension had drained, Wanda slipped from behind her husband and ran to her daughter, wrapping her in a warm embrace. "Oh, Daramis. I thought. . . . I never hoped. . . . I never even dreamed. . . ." She couldn't finish her sentences. A small smile crept across her daughter's face and she hugged her back.
Hal laughed again. "You learned well, Daramis. You look ready to tackle anything."
"I've been in the galaxy for eight years, Hal. Mustn't forget that."
He crossed the room to stand beside his wife, who released Dara. He thrust out his hand. Daramis took it gingerly. He shook his daughter's hand heartily, then stepped back.
"You're a Jedi, aren't you?"
"I was."
"We've heard stories-- Wait. What do you mean, 'was?' Aren't you still a Jedi?"
Dara shook her head slightly. "No. I lost my ability to control the Force. I can sense when others are using it, sometimes I can feel it, but I can't manipulate it."
An enormous smile spread across his face. "Does this mean we get you back?"
She shook her head. "Hal, I didn't leave because I wanted to be a Jedi. There were other reasons. I'm sure you remember. They're part of the reason you sent Cher'lindria to kill me, which, by the way, I thought was particularly cruel."
Hal ignored the statement. "If you're not a Jedi, then there's nothing to stand in your way. There is always room in this business for a bright young lady like yourself." He looked at her appraisingly. "You were taught well."
"There's not always room in a bright young lady for this business," she said. "I told you, I didn't leave just to become a Jedi. If that was all I had wanted, I could have gotten you to agree. But I notice that Black Moon still runs slaves."
Hal opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked at her for a long moment, a smoldering anger coming back into his eyes. "Yeah. And I notice you still don't approve, and that you still haven't learned which rules to break and which rules not to."
Daramis tossed her hair. "I've learned. The problem is, Hal, the rules you don't want broken are the rules by which you make money, not necessarily rules that don't need to be broken. I didn't come to say this, but you should probably know. If I come across another Black Moon slave shipment, I'll do the same thing I did last time."
Hal's features were overcome with rage, and Dara knew he was remembering as well.


"Daramis." The precise voice of her droid brought her head up.
"What?"
"There is something you should see." He motioned to a computer read-out.
She leaned over. The ship in front of them, making a hyperjump change, had its IFF transponder going. Not a surprise. She read the name of the ship.
Black Skies.
Her eyes narrowed. "That's a Black Moon ship." She had kept up on Hal's organization as best as she had been able to. "A slave freighter."
Buzz confirmed her statement.
"Where are they going?"
"Exit vector suggests Nal Hutta."
Dara's face contorted with rage and she slapped at the controls. The laser sight appeared on the viewport and focused on the tail of Black Skies. "Open a comm channel."
"Right away."
A red light flashed. "Black Skies, this is the Nova." Dara had falsified her own IFF transponder just recently. "Cut your engines and prepare to receive boarders."
A laugh came through the comm speakers as mostly static. "Nova, you're very funny. Eat my dust."
Dara fired. The four lasers sped through vaccuum and chewed at the Black Skies tail section. That was where the hyperdrive was. The ship began to jerk around erratically, destroying its ability to jump into hyperspace.
"Black Skies, if you do not cut your engines immediately, I will be forced to disable you and call in reinforcements."
There was another laugh. "Reinforcements? What reinforcements could you have?"
As much as she hated it, it was the best way. "I'm putting in a request for a Star Destroyer. They'll be here shortly, but the stormtroopers with me aren't happy about waiting."
The voice sounded a little frightened now. "You a spook?"
A spook. Dara smiled. They thought she was a spy, or an undercover agent, transporting troops. "Classified info, Black Skies. Cut your engines." She lined up another shot, this time with a concussion missile.
"Don't shoot! We are powering down. You may come aboard."
Buzz looked at Dara. "Now what? Are you going?"
She shrugged and checked the charge on her blasters. "Why not?"
"They'll kill you."
"Not if I kill them first."


Daramis had killed them first and found two dozen female Twi'lek dancers in the back of the ship. She discovered one of them could fly a ship, and turned the Black Skies over to them. The tears of gratitude were almost more than she could take. Cher'lindria's face kept popping up in her mind.
"You could have gone far in this business, Daramis." Hal's features were tight and rigid.
"No. I couldn't have. I still have a conscience."
"Did you ever find your vaunted line? You're a smuggler, too, Daramis. You know what you're doing."
"I do know what I'm doing," Daramis replied calmly. "I'm not running slaves. I've found that at times the line is blurred, but it's always there. Slavery crosses it, just like I told you eight years ago."
Wanda looked from husband to daughter, then took a step back.
"So why did you come, Daramis? To tell me you'll continue to prey on my ships? To tell me that you want back into the family? Things will have to change before that happens."
"Yes, Hal. They will. But I'm not going to do the changing. I don't want back in. I wanted to see you and Mom. Things can go on like they have been, but I wanted to see you."
"No apology for storming off eight years ago?"
"No."
"No apology for thwarting my shipments?"
"No."
"No request for credits?"
She snorted. "No. I have plenty of my own, thank you."
"Then there's nothing else to say."
"I guess not." Dara hugged her mother again. "If you need to reach me, leave a message at this account." She handed him a scrap of flimsi with an automated message service number on it. There was no connection between it and her. She had had a friend set it up under a false name. The trail back to her was buried under so many layers that it was impossible to find. Hal stuffed it into his pocket with-out looking at it. Dara managed a small smile. "I'll expect a message about the same time Corellia turns into a black hole."
Hal opened his mouth, but Dara interrupted. "Don't say it, Hal. I'm an adult. You're an adult. Don't talk to me about respect. I've got plenty, and I give it where I see fit." She took a step toward the door. "Is Cher'lindria in the barracks?"
Hal shook his head. "She left."
Daramis blinked. "She was here not ten minutes ago."
"About a minute before I came back inside, she ran out and sprinted to her ship like something was chasing her. She hauled jets without a word to anyone."
"Oh." Dara was disappointed.
"You can leave by the front gate," Hal said. "I won't stop you, nor will anyone else. But things won't change that much between us, Daramis. As long as you insist on holding your point of view, you are no more related to me than Feriwu."
She blinked again, this time incredulously. "Is he still working for you?"
"Yes."
Daramis rolled her eyes. "I hope you know he's stealing from you quite regularly. If I were you, I'd get another assistant. Good-bye." She strode swiftly out the door, leaving her father slack-jawed at her statement and her mother teary-eyed at her sudden arrival and equally sudden departure.
It took her a quarter of an hour to get back to the Ricochet. It was a quiet walk, full of thought. The meeting had gone about as planned--perhaps a little better, since no one had shot at her. As her ship came into sight, she thought of the day her parents had given it to her. It had been her sixteenth birthday, just four months before she had left. She had been growing more and more frustrated and upset with her father and the way he did things. As usual, he had tried to buy her off to keep the peace. That time it hadn't worked, but the ship served her well.
The ramp extended for her as she reached the large silver starship. She walked into the cockpit moments later and was glad to see the her two silver friends already there.
"Buzz, get us out of here. Take us to Coruscant." She beckoned to the other as the droid complied, and the two walked into Dara's private cabin.
Kuuy stared at her for several minutes after Dara flopped on her bed.
"How did it go?"
Dara groaned. "Don't ask."
"That bad?"
She sat up. "Actually, it wasn't terrible. I have no blaster wounds, so I guess you could say it was a success. But I didn't get anywhere with Hal. Wanda was glad enough to see me, but Hal definite-ly put a damper on her. He was very adament that things are going to stay the same. He doesn't want me in the picture, and he's still sore about the slaves."
Kuuy sat beside her and gave her a long hug. "Cheer up," she said, wiping a tear from her friend's eye. "I don't want to kill you."
Dara laughed and fell back onto the bed. "Wait until tomorrow morning, when the last of the adrenaline wears off. You might change your mind."


12-27-02

Castle Guard

The vast room, already swarming with the Castle Guard, began slowly to fill with heavily-armed intruders. Swords were drawn on both sides, but, for some unknown reason, no one attacked. They stood, weapons at the ready, warily sizing each other up. No one spoke. The Castle Guard, without one command, arrayed themselves into a formation that put their backs to the wall and one of the two doors in the room. Slowly, the invaders moved into a slightly different position, but also with their backs to a door.
They moved with quiet determination and I knew that if I didn't speak up soon, blood would be shed. Lots of it, and all unnecessarily. I wormed my way through the tense, rigid soldiers that were readying themselves for battle, and posted myself in front of the Castle Guard.
"You must lay down your weapons," I commanded in as royal a tone as I could manage. "I give you my word you will not be harmed."
The men began to mutter heatedly. No one moved to sheath a sword. Their faces were stone masks, masks of men willing to die for what they thought was right. If only I could get them to listen to me; none of the soldiers needed to die.
I swallowed hard. Many of them I had known since I was but a young child, and I knew they would feel I was betraying them. They could not understand that things had changed dramatically, for both my social position and my political influence.
The Captain of the Guard stepped forward. "Begging your pardon, Highness, but it appears to me that you are being held captive by our enemies. It is our duty to rescue you."
I looked into his eyes. He was a stoic man, fair-minded and always ready to execute orders, no matter the personal cost to him. Right now he would die to see me safe; I hoped he wouldn't have to.
"Captain, I am not being compelled by these men. You must believe me. If you will surrender, not one of you will be harmed; but we have to get through, and they will not hesitate to cut you all down. They have a tactical advantage and greatly superior numbers." I tried to speak steadily, but was afraid my nervousness had shown through.
The captain licked his lips slowly, taking in me, the soldiers at my back, and assessing the situation. He raised his sword and I knew he was going to give the order to charge. It would be a slaughter.
"What can I say to make you believe me," I yelled at him.
He smiled sadly. "Nothing. I believe my eyes."
"Hold a moment." I turned my back to him and spoke to the commander of the invaders. "I told you there would be a point when you would have to trust me. This is it."
He studied me warily. "What is it that you want us to do?"
"Put away your weapons."
He stared at me wide-eyed. "You have to be joking, Highness."
I shook my head slowly. "It is the only way. These are honorable men and they will not rush you. But as you can see, they are convinced I am being compelled to speak these words. If you show that you follow my orders, however. . . ." I let the sentence hang and turned back to the captain.
"Sheath swords!" the commander bellowed. I heard the faint rasp of metal on leather.
"Captain, will you do the same? You now have evidence that I am not their captive."
The captain looked at me long and hard. Finally he sighed. "There are forces at work in the kingdom that I can't begin to understand." He extended his sword to me. I took it, wrapping my fingers around the hilt, feeling the balance of the blade. He turned to his men. "We are at their mercy."
I felt like crumpling to the floor, so great was my relief. It was not yet over, however. Now I had to make sure that the ever-capable Castle Guard could not distract us later on. To do that, I would have to break faith with some of them. Being men of action, they would not understand. "Put down your swords," I said.
They lowered their weapons.
"On the floor, please. All weapons you may have." A hard knot of anguish formed in my stomach as I watched the brave men disarm themselves and stare at me, waiting on my word. "If any of you wish to join us in our mission, you may." I waited, not really expecting any response to the offer. I was not disappointed. No one moved. I motioned to the commander standing behind me. "Please," I told the Castle Guard, "do not resist. You will not be harmed and I will make sure you are not forgotten."
The commander issued orders to his men, and some began to gather the swords, daggers, and slings lying on the floor at the Guardsmen's feet. Others removed the lengths of rope hanging from their belts and bound each Guard's hands behind his back. Not one of them made the slightest move of resistance; all their eyes were on me.
They had placed their complete trust in my judgment. I could only hope I hadn't made a wrong decision. The tip of my tongue ran across my dry lips and I swallowed hard.
When every Guard was bound, the commander looked expectantly at me. I took a deep breath.
"Leave them here. They won't get in the way."
The commander nodded, gestured to his troops. They followed him through the next door in a very orderly fashion, without a single glance at the prisoners they were leaving unguarded. As I moved to go with them, the Captain of the Guard caught my eye.
I stopped.
"I'm very sorry it has to be this way, Captain. Truly, I am."
He regarded me with a steady, unblinking stare and did not say a word.
My eyes traveled from his face to the face of every man in the room in turn. They all stared at me silently. There was no accusation in their eyes, no betrayal; just a simple, almost childish trust. I suddenly felt as if someone had placed a giant boulder on my shoulders. I now knew the awful power of having someone willing to live and die for you, no matter what the cost.
It was a fearsome knowledge.
I wanted to throw up.
I forced myself to calmly meet each gaze, then walk out of the room with dignity. I could feel their stares following my back as I left them behind.
* * *
I gripped the sword hilt as if I were hanging a thousand feet above the ground and it was all I had to hold on to. My fingers began to protest, but I ignored them. My eyes concentrated on the stairs I was mounting behind the scores of invaders.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
Sixteen.
There were sixty steps to the top of the walls. That was were my father would be. It was strange, but I still thought of him as my father. It was too bad that he had lied to me all these years, knowing that I was to be discarded. My teeth clenched in anger.
Eighteen.
Nineteen.
Twenty.
It was just three weeks ago, on my eighteenth birthday, that he had broken the news. I had just opened my eyes. He was the first thing I saw that morning. I loved him, as any child loves her father. And he told me. I was not his child, was no relation to him at all, nor his deceased wife. I would be allowed to continue my life in the castle, but there was to be no thought of inheritance. He severed an eighteen-year-long bond in a casual statement. He didn't care. How I hated him.
Twenty-four.
Twenty-five.
Twenty-six.
There was no question about staying at the castle. I had left that very afternoon, taking only my falcon, my horse, and a pack of food and clothing. I had wandered across the countryside for several days, wondering what to do. I had only a little money and no place to go, no real connections with the world outside my father's castle. And then I met him.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine.
Thirty.
I had stopped at an inn for the night, cold and wet through from a rainstorm that pounded down outside. After ordering a hot drink, I settled beside the fire to warm myself. He made his way across the room to sit beside me. At first, he didn't say anything. Then he began to ask questions. What was my name? Where was I from? Where was I going? Was I traveling with anyone? I was reluctant to answer them, and strangely enough, he had seemed pleased with that.
Thirty-four.
Thirty-five.
Thirty-six.
Then he began to talk, but not about himself. He spoke of a year long past, a decisive year for the small kingdom's history, but not one generally spoken of when the winter tales are told. It was a year when power was shifted, people were killed, and the surrounding country thrown into turmoil. A king and queen were murdered that year, he had said, quickly and silently. It happened so fast that relatively little attention was paid to the deed. The servants noticed, but were not heeded when they told their story.
Thirty-eight.
Thirty-nine.
Forty.
One night when everyone went to sleep, one king ruled the castle. When they woke up, another had slipped into his place. There were a few astonished and quite noisy servants, but they were soon silenced. Many of the common folk didn't notice at all; one king's name was just as good as the next, and a few thought that they had had the name wrong all along. There was no proclamation, no drastic change, no announcement of a new system. The new king and queen even adopted the surviving child as their own. Life went on as usual.
Forty-four.
Forty-five.
Forty-six.
He had said all this quietly, not looking at me at all. He merely stared into the fire and talked. I had known instantly that the child he spoke of was me. I had felt the rage mounting inside of me at the realization that I had called the murderer of my parents "father" those eighteen years. I felt sick. Then I had demanded of the man why he told me such a dreadful truth when it had been hidden from me. There had been no question in my mind that it was the truth. There were too many details in my memory that slipped into place as I heard the tale for it to be otherwise.
Forty-eight.
Forty-nine.
Fifty.
He looked at me solemnly, then asked if I would like to take what was rightfully mine and avenge the death of my parents. I had asked him if he really had to ask. It was then that he had smiled and taken me to a place where men knew the truth and had been waiting for me. It was incredible. The next two weeks had been spent making a plan.
Fifty-four.
Fifty-five.
Fifty-six.
I had told them that if they trusted me enough to do whatever I said, I could take care of the Castle Guard, and I had fulfilled my promise. Now we had to find the man who had slain my parents and taken over their role in my life and what was rightfully my kingdom. My mind was filled with the atrocities of the man I had once called father. The sword clenched in my right hand glistened in the sunlight. I filled my left hand with a dagger from my belt, thankful that my studies had included more than just history and mathematics.
Fifty-eight.
Fifty-nine.
Sixty.
As I stepped onto the wall top, my gaze traveled across the countryside. Rolling hills dotted with trees and sheep, plains with scattered villages, backed by a fierce mountain range covered the landscape. A few fluffy clouds drifted through the blue sky and I saw my falcon circling overhead. I took a deep breath of the sweet, cold air and smiled grimly.
Then I looked for the man who had claimed to be my father for so many years.
I did not have to look far. He stood askance, jaw flapping and calling for the Castle Guard. The few that had not been to meet us earlier appeared at his side. I pushed my way through the men, who moved aside for me, and stared at the king face-to-face. The Guardsmen looked at me, at the man they knew as their king, then took a step back. I shifted my gaze to them. They took another step back. My face softened and they dropped to one knee. I nodded to them, and they fled.
The pretender looked at me, amusement and fear fighting for residence on his face—amusement that I would dare to challenge him, fear of the support I had already rallied. I nodded again.
"It really is me, Father. Oh, but I can't call you that anymore, can I?" My face hardened. "Would your rather I called you a usurper, a pretender to the throne, and a murderer?"
Fear finally won the battle, but its victory was short-lived. His face instantly became an expressionless mask. "You foolish child," he spat. "It should have been enough for you to be able to live in the castle, surrounded by your servants and pretty things. I never wanted you to die."
A thin smile touched my lips. "Finally, one thing we have in common. I don't want to die, either." Now my eyes narrowed. "The time spent with your weapons master will ensure that it will not happen. Your final wish has been granted." I raised the sword.
The men behind me took a step back to give us room.
Slowly, the imposter drew his own sword, one that was specifically molded to his hand, his grip. I clearly had the disadvantage when it came to weapons. I, however, had practiced every chance I got. I knew for a fact that he hadn't touched his blade in weeks.
I took a quick step forward and the swords met lightly. A pained expression crossed his face.
"What's the matter?" I taunted. "Nervous about fighting me? It's not like you're fighting your child," I said, lunging as I spoke the last word.
He darted back, striking my sword aside in the barest nick of time. I took another step forward and slashed at him. His face crinkled in concentration as he dodged the sweeping blade. We managed to cross swords a few times more, sparks flying in all directions, before I finally opened a thin cut on his cheek.
First blood.
I lunged. He parried. I slashed. He blocked. I swept my blade at his legs. He jumped over the steel. What he lacked in continuous practice, he made up for in years of experience. Even so, I forced him farther and farther back along the wall. The he slipped underneath my defenses and sliced at my shoulder. I twisted away and the tip of his sword neatly cut the left shoulder of my tunic, barely grazing my skin. It wasn't at all a bad wound, but when I spun away from the flashing blade, my ankle gave way and I found myself pressed against the wall, my sword hand trapped.
Time seemed to crawl by and everything moved in slow motion. I heard cries from behind me and saw an evil grin creep onto the false king's face. I could not move away from the wall fast enough to intercept the blade that he lifted above his head to swing down on me.
The sword began to drop.
I heard a screech coming from behind him and my eyes traveled to the sky above his head. My falcon, wings folded back, talons extended, was diving at the flashing metal. The large bird plowed into the back of the pretender's head, driving him to his knees. The sword clattered harmlessly to the ground.
He shook his head dazedly. Then, before I had time to react, his already pale and sweaty face turned a sickening ash color, and he sank to his knees. I frowned, wary of a trap. Cautiously, I stepped forward and nudged him with the toe of my leather boot. He didn't move.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped back. It was over, and I had won.
The commander came running up behind me. "Is he dead?"
"I think not. He has had a spell like this before."
The commander nodded, then drew his sword.
"Hold, man. What are you doing?" I demanded.
"I will kill him, so you will have no blood on your hands, so you will not have to worry about him again."
I shook my head. "No. It is not done. Have him thrown in the dungeons. That is enough for now. I will decide his fate later."
The commander, clearly unhappy with the decision, gave orders to two of his men. They grabbed the pretender's arms and hauled him away.
"Now we must free the Castle Guard," I said.
"Is that wise?" the commander asked. "They may try to revenge him."
I shook my head. "I know where their loyalty lies. You saw it. It is not with him." I jerked my head after the two soldiers. "I will do it myself, if you will not."
"That will not be necessary," he hastened to say.
"I believe I will come anyway."
* * *
Even after eighteen years of castle life, I am not entirely certain I am used to people bowing to me. Most certainly, I am not used to an entire roomful of soldiers bowing to me, even after I had them taken prisoner. But what unnerved me most was the next day, when I had been arrayed in full royal regalia and ushered onto the balcony, and saw the soldiers, the Castle Guard--those who weren't beside me, the commoners--farmers, merchants, and the like, along with the lesser nobility standing on the ground below me, all waiting for me to appear.
My stomach twisted itself up into knots.
And then the cheer began.
It started sparsely, slowly, quietly, but quickly climbed to a massive, unified chant.
As I listened to the people, my people, those who entrusted their very lives into my young hands, tears clouded my vision. I could only pray that I would be worthy of their esteem and honor.
The chant continued long after I had begged them to stop.
"Long live the true Queen."

The Charge

{Stilted? Yes. Forced? Yes. Fun? Definitely. :o) }

The sunlight shone, animals fled
The birds had flown and left the glade
Trumpets were blown, decisions made
A charge was to be led

The foe was vast, their numbers large
The die was cast, and fate was set
They could not last, the end was met
But what they did was charge

Those five hundred, those brave few men
Down they thundered, to the valley
The foe blundered, could not rally
Could not meet the charge then

The swords they clashed, the sparks they flew
The sunlight flashed, war cries sounded
Their strengths were matched, foe was hounded
Though they that charged were few

As the tide turned, the vanquished fled
Honor was spurned, foe retreated
And they soon learned they were defeated
By the charge that was led

They bravely fought and glory won
Freedom was bought and paid with blood
Victory sought those few that stood
After the charge was done

Cold Hands

{What would a writing journal be without some free verse?}
Cold Hands

Night has fallen
A thousand stars glitter in the sky
Like raindrops glistening on black velvet
Or diamonds sprinkled among coal
A cool breeze blows
And it’s quiet
Too quiet
The silence haunts me
The emptiness taunts me
The stillness only reminds me
That you’re not there
Your seat is vacant
My hand is cold
My voice echoes in my ears
And no reply comes
All I know is loneliness
And all I feel is emptiness
When I raise my eyes to meet yours
All I see are stars
And the breeze turns to wind
A bitter wind that stings my face
Clouds roll in to cover the stars
The stars that held such wonder for us
Such promise, such future
The rain falls
It washes away my tears
Dries my fears
Sweeps away the past
But I still feel the loss
A thousand thunderstorms
Could never make me forget
The way you looked at me
A million raindrops
Could never erase the sound of your voice
From my mind
And I do mind
I mind that fate has seen fit to fling us apart
I mind that the bench beside me is cold
The clouds are blown away by the bitter wind
My heart is bathed in moonlight
Dried in the night air
Kissed to sleep by the cool breeze
The stars are particularly dazzling tonight
They glitter coldly, silent and harsh
And my hand is still cold
**

USFO

{If this one sounds a little weird, it's because it is. It's based on a dream I had one night, which explains away all the little bits and pieces that don't fit, like running forty miles in ten minutes... (I think I left that in... maybe I should take it out). Anyway, read it with a grain of salt. ;o) }

The car pulled into a parking space in front of Wal-Mart. The driver got out of the car, saying she would only be a minute. I watched her go, unworried. There had been no USFO activity for nearly a week.
USFO. They were out to get me. I don't really know why. Something to do with a science experiment, I think. Nobody really knows who they are, not even the government. Nobody knows what the acronym stands for, either. Some people think it might be a play off of UFO's, but I doubt it.
I reclined the chair and calmed my nerves. They had been on edge all week, anticipating another USFO strike. I began to relax for the first time in a long, long time. The USFO must have forgotten about me.
I had almost convinced myself of that and was ready to take a short nap when motion caught my eye. I turned my head out of habit and my heart stopped beating for a moment.
A USFO "Monster" car was pulling into a space five slots up and one aisle over from my vehicle.
But they couldn't know I was here! They just couldn't! Maybe they were playing a hunch. Maybe they weren't even looking for me. Yes, that was it.
But I couldn't afford to take chances. I shoved my feet into my shoes without taking time to tie them, just stepping on the back of the shoe, and grabbed the door handle. I waited until the agent in the "Monster" car was looking the other way before opening the door and jumping out.
My timing was off and I was spotted. I heard a door open, someone shout my code name, and the telltale sound of a "Monster" engine starting up. I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, daring only one glance over my shoulder and nearly getting clipped by a car in the process. The "Monster" car pulled out of the space and drove in my general direction just as another car slipped into the empty slot. The parking lot was crowded. My only chance was to get inside Wal-Mart. They couldn't drive in there and it would take a while for them to find another empty space.
I ran as fast as I could toward the entrance, dodging cars and ignoring blaring horns. I finally made it to the electronic doors and turned just in time to see a second "Monster" car roar up. I darted into the store and searched for my driver/bodyguard. I spotted her down an aisle way and approached her quickly. She was just closing her cell phone as I reached her.
Her mouth dropped open. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "Do you realize how risky this is?"
I nodded and spoke two words that silenced her protests. "USFO outside."
Her whole demeanor changed, and she became very brusque and business-like. "Okay. You have to get out of here. Is there a back door?"
"I think so." I headed toward the back of the store, my bodyguard trailing twenty feet behind. I wished I could take the time to put my shoes on properly.
I found a salesman and asked him where the back door was, trying to convey my urgency.
He thought for a moment. "I'm almost positive there's one around here somewhere."
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, nearly out of my mind with impatience.
"I think it's over there." He pointed to a corner positively stuffed with doors. "Let me go get the key." He meandered off toward the front.
I watched him go, saw him encounter my bodyguard, and bit back a smile as he ran to the front of the store.
Minutes later, he was back with the key. He let us out into an alleyway. After curtly thanking him, my guard told me she was going to do something about our government-issued car. I sat down and put my shoes on properly, lacing them tight.
Then I stood to follow my driver and stopped short at her scream. I froze, but only for a pair of heartbeats. I turned and took off in the opposite direction. I ran as fast as I could, down alleys and through side streets, desperately trying to shake the USFO agents on my tail. It proved to be impossible. They dogged my every step, but I kept going.
I turned on the speed, feeling my feet pound against the pavement and mentally chanting to the rhythm. Got-to-run! Got-to-run! Got-to-run! I was not even breathing hard yet. I was in wonderful shape, but so were the USFO agents behind me. I could tell I was in for a long, strenuous race, one that not even my adrenaline would be able to help me win.
I ran for what must have been hours. Now I was gasping for breath, and sweat poured down my face. I heard one agent yell to her friend incredulously, "It's been thirty miles!"
My mind reeled. No wonder I was exhausted. Had it really been that far? But I had to keep going. I was running for my life. I could feel the blood pulsing through my neck and my heart felt like it would burst out of my chest. I dashed across an empty parking lot.
One of the agents, a thick man, came too close for comfort and almost grabbed me. At the last possible moment I twisted away and found enough strength for another burst of speed and marginally outdistanced him.
I ran on and on, never able to lose the USFO agents still on my trail. I ran what had to be another ten miles. The chase had been going on for nearly five hours now. I could feel every jar of my legs hitting the asphalt, pushing off, and hitting again. My legs were quivering, but still I pressed on. I began to slow even though I didn't want to, and it became harder and harder to take another step. At least the USFO agents had to be tiring as well.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew I couldn't go any farther. I slipped down a side street and ducked into a small alley. I stopped short. It was a dead end.
My vision blurred and my legs were shaking uncontrollably. My chest was heaving up and down, trying to get enough air in my lungs. Tears of exhaustion and defeat streamed down my cheeks. I knew there was no chance of escaping now. I could not backtrack. They would intercept me. I couldn't fight my way clear of them, and even if I could, there was no way I could run any more. The chase was over, and I had lost.
I staggered over to the far wall and drew my pistol. My legs refused to support me any longer, so I collapsed into a corner, my back pressed against the wall. I tried to aim the weapon at the entrance to the alley, but my hands were shaking so bad that the gun slipped from my fingers and hit the ground with a loud clatter. I was sure the agents could have heard the noise from Timbuktu. My whole body was trembling from exertion and I couldn't still the tremors, or stop the tears that flowed down my face, drenching the collar of my shirt. A black curtain began to fall. I didn't fight it.
Before the darkness overtook me, I realized that it was a good thing. I didn't want to be conscious when they found and took me.

PART TWO

Dark forms bent over me. Muted conversations eluded my hearing. I tried to raise my head, but my muscles wouldn't cooperate. I felt strangely detached from my body; I couldn't move anything. Arms slid under my shoulders and knees and lifted me like a child. I was carried to a car and laid in the back on the ground where a seat should have been. A familiar engine roared in my ears. The sound made my heart pound and my head spin. I was scared, but couldn't remember why. I couldn't place the sound, but knew that I was in big trouble if I was hearing it. Before I could recall what it was from, I blacked out again.

PART THREE

I opened my eyes, and instantly regretted it. Harsh light forced them shut. I squinted as a compromise and tried to adjust to the illumination. I was lying on a hard cot in a small, stark room. The five-by-seven enclosure was bare, except for the cot, and the walls were devoid of paint or any decoration. There was a light bulb extending down from the ceiling with a chain dangling below that, and a window on one side. A weather-beaten, old wooden door was to the left of my cot. Other than that, the room was empty.
I couldn't remember where I was, or what I was doing here. I wanted desperately to be at home in my own bed, with the comforting feeling that. . . someone. . . was looking out for me.
I turned my neck with great difficulty. It was sore. I could feel every muscle protest at the motion. Something was etched deeply into the door. Letters. If I turned just a little more, I could make them out.
U. . . S. . . F. . . O.
And it all came back.
I remembered everything about that horrible chase through the streets. The six hour run that had covered almost forty miles. Slipping into unconsciousness right before they caught up with me. Wal-Mart. My bodyguard's scream. I wondered what they had done to her.
Experimentally, I moved my hands. They were not bound, but I could still hardly get them to respond. Every part of my body was stiff, sore and screaming in pain. I would just have to ignore it.
I winced as I sat up and swung my legs off the cot. It might be a little harder to ignore that I thought. I eased myself into a standing position and promptly sat back down as a wave of dizziness washed over me, causing my legs to buckle. I waited a few seconds and tried again.
This time I braced myself against the wall. My legs held, even though they didn't want to. Tentatively, I took a step. It hurt. Every muscle in my legs protested, but I kept going. Placing one foot in front of the other in steady succession and trying not to pay attention to the pain, I made my way to the door.
I tried the handle, just in case.
I needn't have bothered. It was locked. I sighed in vexation and stumbled over to the window. There were no bars on it, and I assumed it unlocked from the inside like most respectable windows. In which case and the event that there were no guards outside, I could open it and slip out. Maybe.
It unlocked from the inside, and I could see no guards. My spirits soared and I pushed against it to test the hinges. I had to bite back a scream of frustration. It was welded shut, and a guard moved into my line of vision.
I returned to my cot and slumped against the wall, tears of defeat stealing down my cheeks. My captors had not forgotten anything. My holster was empty, the gun either still lying in the alley or in USFO possession, and my knife was gone. The pouch I kept around my waist with emergency supplies was still there, but it was a safe bet that the switchblade, cell phone, and pager it contained were gone. I unzipped it and confirmed my guess. All that was left was a comic book, two juice packs, a protein bar, painkillers, and a slightly squashed “Snickers”.
I took a painkiller and gulped some juice to wet my parched mouth. By pressing lightly on my skin and watching color spring back the instant my finger moved, I ascertained that I was not dehydrated, so they must have given me water while I was out. Then I peeled back the wrapper on the candy bar and nibbled at it half-heartedly. I wasn't hungry, but needed all the energy I could get. I planned on saving the protein bar for later, and the carbs in a “Snickers” should give me a sugar rush.
There was nothing I could do but wait. Wait for the USFO representative to show his or her face. Wait for a chance to get out of this hellhole. I remembered a book I had read once, something about Star Wars. In it they called the bad guys "Sithspit" or "Sithspawn." That sounded like a good name to me. I decided to employ it at the earliest opportunity.
I sat on the cot, fuming over my situation and thinking of all the descriptive terms that I could use when the representative finally came to see me. Then I began to wonder how on earth I was going to get out of this mess. I fumed and fretted alternately for nearly two hours before I noticed any signs of life anywhere.
A shadowy form crossed in front of the window, and I jumped up. Limping as fast as I could over to the window, I craned my neck to see who it was. There was nobody in sight, not even a guard. Crestfallen, I leaned against the wall and stared at the door.
It opened.
I blinked, trying to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.
A woman entered my cell. She was thin, almost gaunt, and her short black hair fell in wisps around her face. Cold blue eyes examined me quickly, moved around the rest of the room, then returned to me. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, and she was wearing too much make-up.
"Gray Fox?" she asked, using my code name. Her voice carried a thick accent that I couldn't place.
I remained silent. I wasn't going to supply any more information than I had to, and they might not be sure they had the right agent.
"Gray Fox, you might as well know that you are in the hands of the USFO."
"Oh, really?" I said sarcastically. "I thought these were the guest quarters in the White House."
She shot me a chilling gaze, which I largely ignored. "Things will go considerably easier on you if you decide to cooperate."
I fixed an unconcerned look on my face and didn't answer.
She pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from her pocket. "What is your real name?"
"Martha Stewart," I replied as seriously as I could. With any luck, she might not be familiar with too many American things.
She marked down my answer. I contained my grin and waited for the next question.
"Age?"
"Thirty-nine."
She gave me a puzzled look but wrote down the number. "Birthplace?"
"California, Napa State Hospital."
She seemed completely satisfied with that answer. I could barely hold my laughter back.
"Occupation other than scientist?"
"Homemaker."
"What is that?"
I swallowed a giggle. "Kind of like a construction worker."
She nodded. "What experiments have you been conducting within the last month?"
I struggled to keep a straight face. "Well, there was that whole Frankenstein bit, but I ordered the wrong brain, so I had to scrap it. Then I fiddled around with creating another Whangdoodle, but I never could get the slippers to regenerate properly, or the sweet tooth quite right. So I forgot about it." I thought for a moment. "Then I tried to find a cure for the common cold. And there was the whole dehydrated water experiment coupled with food and air pipes from Earth to Mars. I think that's about it."
"Okay." She gave me a funny look. "I'll be back later." She left.
I counted to fifty before letting out all the laughter I had kept in. I could not restrain it, and laughed uncontrollably for the next few minutes. She was going to get chewed out when she delivered that form to her superior. Unless he or she knew even less than she did about America.
Unfortunately, she got chewed out. That is, unfortunately for me, not her. She returned in a cold fury, hurling what I took to be insults in a foreign language at me, and stomping around the small room. I, who had moved back up to the cot, folded my arms behind my head and watched her rant and rave. Finally, she calmed down.
"Will you answer those questions properly?"
I considered, and made a big deal of thinking it through. "No."
She turned her back to me, and I heard her muttering something. Then she faced me again. "You are only making this harder on yourself."
"And you," I added. "And your time frame. And whatever Sithspawn you're reporting to." That felt surprisingly satisfying.
Her face turned a lovely shade of red. "Foolish American. We can find out everything about you!"
I half-smiled. "Do it, then. Why bother me with silly questions?"
I thought she would insult me more, but she flung another question at me, hoping to catch me off guard. "Where are the keys to your laboratory?"
My laboratory. What was in my laboratory that the USFO could possibly want? "Around my neck," I calmly replied without missing a beat.
"Tell me or else—" she stopped abruptly. "Around your neck?" She sounded surprised.
I nodded. "Yes."
She thrust out her hand. "Give them to me."
I pulled a rawhide strip from around my neck. Two keys dangled from it. I tossed them to her.
She grabbed for them, fumbled, and picked them up from the floor. I smiled. She glared. "Are these the keys?"
"One of them is."
"What is the other one for?"
"My laboratory safe."
She smiled a feral grin. "The USFO will be pleased to learn you can be cooperative when you need to be."
"You mean I listen to reason when applied with brute force?"
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means I do what you want when I'm threatened."
That grin again. "Yes. That is what I mean." The door clicked shut behind her.
I smiled. They had never said which laboratory keys they wanted. I had three labs. Those were the keys to my home lab, which was pretty empty except for a few formulas and test tubes that were of no value to anyone. The safe held a few hundred dollars and my Master's degree diploma, but that was it. They were going to have to search a long time to find the keys to my main lab.
My lab. That really narrowed down the possibilities of what they wanted. Obviously they were after my experiments with DNA. It had been rumored that I was near a breakthrough in the cloning area. That was far from the truth. I had never even experimented with cloning. The very thought sent shudders down my spine. But what I had been working on was too important to risk letting it get out, so the government had leaked out false stories to throw people like the USFO off the track. I wished it hadn't worked quite so well.
I glanced out the window. Another shadowy form passed by, but as soon as I got over there and looked out, there was no one in sight. I returned to my cot, frustrated. I had to get out of there. Sooner or later, the USFO was going to realize that my work had nothing to do with cloning. When that happened, they would either let me go—which was rather wishful thinking on my part—or kill me—which was very likely—or press me for information on what I was really working on. The latter would be highly detrimental to a great many people. I only wished that I had been more careful with my results.
The next three hours crawled by. I read the comic book in my pack four times, paced the length of my cell twenty-three times, looked out of the window more times than I care to count, and finally took a nap.
A tapping sound woke me.
I jumped up and looked around, trying to remember where it had come from.
Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Taptap.
The window. I hurried over to it and looked out. A dark form stood in front of it, gesturing frantically. I tried to see through the gloom—It had turned night outside, and there was a light inside my room—but could not figure out what the figure wanted. I pointed to the window and pressed me hands together, hoping to show that it wouldn't open. Then I crossed over and turned off the light, hoping that would help my vision.
It did. A man, about thirty years old with brown hair, non-descript features, and a gun, stood outside. He waved his hand to the side and I stepped out of line of the window.
Not a moment too soon. A rock whistled through the air, smashed the window and thudded against the door. I cringed. Every person in the whole building had to have heard that.
"Hurry up," the man hissed. "We don't have a lot of time."
An alarm pierced the silence as I grabbed my pack off the cot and fastened it around my waist. "I'm ready."
He helped me out the window and began to edge along the wall, gripping my hand firmly. I found his grasp somehow reassuring.
"What about the alarm?" I asked urgently. "Maybe we had better go faster than this."
He glanced over at me as if seeing me for the first time. "Oh, the alarm? A little distraction one of my friends cooked up. We're clear. . . for the moment. But we still have to hurry." He pulled me after him as he darted across a small clearing. "See that field?" he pointed to a clearing some five hundred feet away partially illuminated by the main building’s lights.
I nodded.
"My car is parked over there. If something happens to me, run for it. Here's the key." He pressed a cold metal object into my hand. I shoved it in my pocket.
We kept creeping along the shadows, trying to get to the vehicle. Then another alarm sounded. My rescuer cursed vehemently. "There goes our cover!" He started to run, dragging me along behind him.
Searchlights immediately lit up the entire area, sweeping the ground for the escapee. We reached a barbed wire fence and I vaulted it as he climbed through. The spotlights hit us, illuminating our running forms. I turned on the speed as I heard shouts coming from behind us. Guns fired and bullets whistled around our heads. I felt a burning on my right arm, as if someone had pressed a red hot iron against it. I glanced down. There was blood seeping through a rip in my sleeve.
My escort staggered and almost fell. A bullet had grazed his left leg. I caught him and held him up in a half-carry. We hobbled the rest of the distance to the car. I shoved him in the passenger's side and hurried to the driver's seat.
The key was in the ignition two seconds later. I turned it.
Nothing happened.
I bit back a scream and tried again.
The car started. I floored the gas and the car's tires screeched on the pavement as I sped out of the lot.
I looked over at the man in the seat next to me. His face was pale, but his eyes were bright and alert. "Where are we going?"
He looked at me, a sense of respect in his gaze. "Go down this road, then turn right onto the highway."
I nodded and twisted the steering wheel as we came to a curve. Seconds later we were at the highway. I turned onto it. "Now?"
"Keep going. They're sure to send those 'Monster' cars after us. We need as much of a start as we can."
"Who are you?" I belatedly noticed he had a Spanish accent.
He smiled. "My name isn't important, Fox. You can call me Panther for convenience, however. Most people do."
"All right, Panther. Who sent you?"
"Your government hired me to get you out of there. Paid handsomely, too."
"So you're a mercenary?"
"Such a harsh term. Let's say I'm an independent operator for hire."
"Whose loyalty can be bought."
"For a price. To the right buyer. I don't offer my services to just anyone."
"A merc with morals. How quaint." My tone was dry.
"Don't knock it. I got you out of there, didn't I?"
"Yes. You have my eternal gratitude." I looked up into the rearview mirror. No sign of pursuit. "They certainly gave up quickly."
"Don't count on it. The USFO has operators in every city around for miles. They'll activate one of them to watch for us. We're not safe yet."
I believed him. "So what does that mean?"
"We keep going as long as we can."
"You don't have any safe houses set up?"
"Listen, Fox. I was given this job last night. This is more of a 'fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants' type thing."
I sighed. "So I just keep driving until this thing runs out of gas?"
"Yes." He indicated the gas gauge. "It has two tanks, plus an auxiliary tank. They're all full. We can keep going until morning without stopping to fill up."
"Where are we going?"
"I'm hoping to make the airport before dawn."
"How far away is that?"
"Well, the closest one is three hours away, but it's a cinch they'll be watching that one. The next is five hours further, which will probably be watched as well. So we travel eleven hours and hit the next one. It should be clear."
"Oh, joy. Eleven hours on the road." I was glad I had taken a nap. I winced. My arm was starting to throb. "Do you have a strip of cloth or something to bind this with?" I asked. "You should probably do something about your leg, as well."
He nodded and twisted in his seat. Panther grabbed a box out of the back and opened it. It was a severely depleted first-aid kit. All that was left was a couple of Band-Aids, three ACE bandages, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "What should I do with it?" he asked.
I groaned. Didn't this guy know anything? "Pour some of the alcohol onto a bandage and wrap it tight around my arm. That will disinfect the wound and stop the bleeding. Then do the same for your leg."
He nodded and followed my instructions. I hissed as the alcohol stung the open wound and bit back a frustration word as he pulled the bandage tight around my arm and tied it off. It would begin to numb soon. "Thanks," I gasped.
He mumbled something and attended to his own injury.
Three hours later I couldn't feel my right arm from six inches below the shoulder down, and I was still driving on what seemed to be an endless road. Panther was dozing, so I reached down and turned on the radio. A burst of static hit my ears and I played with the tuner, trying to find a station that would come through. There weren't any. I sighed and flicked it off.
Panther slit his eyes open. "My radio doesn't work."
"So I gathered."
"Are you getting tired?"
"No. Just bored."
"I've got some tapes in the back."
"Like what?"
He collected them and began to list the categories. "A couple of rock bands, the Dr. Laura show, the ransom message for—" he cut off abruptly.
"What was that last one?"
"Nothing," he said stiffly.
"No, I want to hear it."
He shook his head. "No."
I glared at him and added a hint of steel to my voice. "Listen, Panther. I want to hear it. Turn it on."
He sighed and fished it out. "Just so everyone knows it wasn't my idea." He popped it in and turned on the stereo.
“This is a message to the United States of America, a low, accented male voice said. We hold the key to the future of cloning.” Ah. So my work had not been compromised yet. That was good to know. “This key is one of your scientists. We have her, and will do whatever is necessary to extract the secrets from her.” That wasn't surprising. I had expected that from the beginning. “You have two options: The first is to give us all the cloning secrets this Doctor has discovered, plus fifty million dollars, and we will return her relatively unharmed.” That was a laugh. As soon as they got the "secrets" and the money, they'd either kill me or spirit me away to a different hiding spot and claim I was killed in a "mishap". “The second is to let us have her. If you choose the second option, we will still get the cloning secrets, but not the money and you will not have your precious Doctor to continue experiments. It makes no difference to us what you choose.”
The voice paused for a moment, then continued. “Since you will find out anyway, let us save you the investigation. We located the Doctor by means of her bodyguard.” My jaw dropped. “She is on the USFO payroll. Do not bother searching for her. You will be wasting your time.
“There you have it, Americans. Your doctor's future, and the future of cloning, hangs in the balance. Think carefully before you act. There will be further instructions once you have made your decision.” The message repeated itself, beginning to end.
The voice cut out, and there were a few seconds of a young female voice speaking rapidly in a foreign language. Then the tape stopped.
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity, and let it out slowly. "So. I understand why I wasn't meant to listen to it."
Panther nodded unhappily.
"Don't worry. I won't let on that I know anything about a ransom."
"But what about your bodyguard? Will you trust another one?"
"A good question. I'll handle that one alone on my own time schedule."
"It's your life, Fox." Panther's eyes slid shut again.
“Thank you for noticing,” I said dryly.
He smiled.
A very good question, I thought. Her being a USFO agent certainly explains some things. Such as the cell phone at Wal-Mart, and how they knew I would be there in the first place. Talk about a low-security area. I wonder why I didn't catch on before? I mentally berated myself for a few seconds, and tried to think of other signs that my guard had been a double agent. There were none that I had been trained to look for.
The real question here is, why did they bother to tell us? My brow furrowed in concentration. They can't profit from that. As they said, the FBI or CIA would have found out anyway, but why save us the trouble? The longer we search, the more time their agents have to ensconce their positions, or escape. Unless.... My skin smoothed. Unless there are no more agents in the USA government. They would want us to think there are, and start to distrust our own people, sowing discord and confusion where unity is required. The USFO would certainly benefit from that.
That conclusion satisfied a lot of questions. There was only one left. How was I to let my superiors know without letting on that I had heard the tape? And what was that bit at the end, the part in the foreign language?
I reached down and hit the rewind button for a few seconds, then released it and played the tape.
There you have it, Americans. Your Doctor's future, and the future of cloning, hangs in the balance. Think carefully before you act. There will be further instructions once you have made your decision. The male voice stopped.
Then the female voice began.
I listened to it again, trying to make sense of the words. "Panther, do you know what she's saying?"
He didn't answer. I glanced over at him. "Panther?"
A soft snore escaped his lips, and his chest moved up and down rhythmically. He was sound asleep. I didn't have the heart to wake him. He had spent a lot of energy getting me out of there, and even if he was being paid for it, I was grateful. I pocketed the tape, hoping he wouldn't miss it too much.
I stared out the windshield, looking for an end to the highway that stretched straight forward as far as I could see. There were no lights, no cars, and no signs. There wasn't anything anywhere.
I drove for another two and a half hours before my eyelids started to feel like lead. I pulled over and nudged Panther. He came awake with a start.
"What? Is someone following us?"
"No. But a funeral procession will be if you don't take over. I'm ready to fall asleep at the wheel."
He stretched and traded places with me, favoring his leg. I took off my jacket, careful not to jar my right arm, bundled it up and placed it behind my head for a pillow. The constant hum of the engines and gentle motion of the car combined with my exhaustion soon put me to sleep.
* * *
I must have slept for hours, for when I awoke, the first rays of dawn were coloring the sky pink. I yawned and sat up straight. Panther was listening to some music, if you could call it that. It was mainly a lot of drums, screaming, and a bass guitar. I winced. He caught the motion and turned it off.
"I was wondering when you were going to wake up. We're almost there."
"Where?" I stifled another yawn.
"The airport. See?" He pointed at a sign with a depiction of an airplane on it as we drove by. "There's the sign. We'll be there in under a half hour."
I nodded. "Good. What time is it?"
He raised his wrist. "About five. Your flight leaves at seven."
My stomach growled. "Then I'll have time to eat."
Panther snorted. "Don't count on it. This is the dinkiest little airport you've probably ever seen. And the town isn't much, either. If they did have food there, you wouldn't want to eat it, trust me."
I groaned. "Great. Just great." I reached into my pack and fumbled around. Maybe the protein bar was still edible, if not squashed into nothing-ness. My fingers closed on it and I inspected it eagerly. It looked digestible. I peeled back the wrapper and bit into it.
Panther declined the half I offered. "I'll be fine. I'm just seeing you off. You'll be safe during the trip, and I've arranged for someone to be waiting for you. Then you go live the rest of your life and I live mine, never meeting again."
"Sounds like a plan. Are all your jobs this well organized?" I was careful to keep any trace of sarcasm out of my voice.
"You could say that."
We passed the next twenty minutes in silence and occasional idle remarks.
Panther indicated a spot far down the road. "That's it. The airport."
I strained my eyes. "But all I see is a large building. No hangars."
"That is the hangar. There's no airport, really. Just a landing strip, a hangar, and a tiny customs office where you get your baggage checked and arrested if you're carrying contraband."
"Oh."
Minutes later we were driving into the tiny parking lot, just big enough for five cars. I opened the door and carefully stood up, glad to stretch my legs after ten or eleven hours in the car. Panther walked across to the small building that served as luggage check, ticket counter, information booth, customs office, and baggage claim, and asked about my flight.
He came back seconds later wearing a smile. "It seems that you and one other person are the only passengers, and the other is here already. You can leave right now."
I grinned broadly. I wanted to get out of this country and away from mercs and the USFO. Anything to speed that up was welcome news. I followed him to the shack and purchased my ticket with the money I had stashed in a secret pocket in my pack that only I knew about.
As the man handed me my ticket, he asked if I had any baggage to be loaded. I told him I did not.
He gave me a funny look. "Leaving kind of suddenly, aren't you?"
Panther stepped up and covered smoothly. "Her luggage was lost by a different airline."
I breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. The man nodded, apparently satisfied. "Just go to the landing strip. There's only one plane there. That's the one you want. The pilot is waiting, along with the other passenger."
"Thank you," I said, and started in the direction he pointed.
Panther grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the car.
"What do you want?" I asked, a little irritably.
"I don't know who the other passenger is, but better not take chances. You might be recognized. Here," he handed me a pair of dark glasses. "Wear these the entire time and this," he pulled an over-sized jacket out of the back and thrust it at me. "Put this on. No one will know you then."
"Thanks, I think." I accepted the items and donned them. "How's that?"
"Perfect. Totally unrecognizable." He shook my hand. "To be honest, I had my doubts going into this job, you being a—no offense—woman and all. But you far exceeded my expectations and have raised my opinion of women considerably. I wish you luck, Fox."
"Thank you, Panther. And thank you for coming after me. All the best to you, as well."
Then I turned and headed for the airplane. They were waiting for me. The pilot and other passenger were already aboard and the engine was going. I scrambled up the steps and took my seat. I watched Panther wave, get in his car, and drive off. Then the tiny six-seater airplane rumbled down the landing strip and into the air. I was on my way home.
I turned my attention to my surroundings. The airplane was clean enough, if a little dingy and old. The pilot was a graying man about sixty years old or so, of Latino descent. The passenger next to me was a female, but I couldn't see her face as she was staring out the window.
I reclined my seat as far back as it would go and settled in for another long ride. The woman turned to me and asked if I knew how long we would be airborne.
My heart nearly dropped to my stomach and I had to shrug, not trusting my voice. The woman shot me a curious glance, then returned to gazing out the window.
She had been my bodyguard.
I felt sick. She was in the plane, sitting next to me. With any luck, she wouldn't recognize me, but she had the entire trip to figure it out. She had betrayed me once, and would certainly do it again. I was thankful for the jacket and glasses Panther had pressed on me. They would certainly add to my anonymity. I shrank into my seat and figured the best thing to do was sleep as long as I could. That would prevent any conversation from starting up.
It wasn't hard. Even though I had slept in the car, I was still exhausted. Funny how traveling does that to a person. I didn't wake up until the plane began it's descent over the transfer airport.
The next plane I was in was much larger and luxurious by comparison. My former bodyguard had disappeared. I hoped she was on a different flight, going to a different destination, but I had to consider the possibility that she had figured out who I was and was tipping off the USFO again.
The stewardess ran through all the safety procedures, then the plane became airborne. When offered a drink, I accepted gladly. My mouth was parched. I even ate the complimentary peanuts with gusto. The journey lasted about two or three hours.
Around eleven in the morning, my final destination came into view. I had never seen a more welcome sight than that airport. After going through security and customs, I looked around, wondering what to do next. Panther had indicated that someone would be waiting for me, but he hadn't said if it was one of his friends, or a G-man, or what the person looked like. I wandered around for ten minutes before finding a small cafe. I bought and ate a tuna sandwich. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
After that, I began to wonder if I should consider calling someone or hiring a cab with what was left of my cash. It was then that a man, about forty years old and graying at the temples, approached me.
"You may think this question strange, Miss," he said in a pleasant baritone, "but are you by any chance acquainted with a Gray Fox?"
The question was phrased so that any ordinary civilian would assume he was speaking of an animal. I knew then that he had to be my escort. He had the look of a government man about him, too. "Why, yes," I said. He watched me carefully to see if I was joking. "I also know a Panther. Are we speaking of the same Fox?"
"Yes." He looked relieved. "My name is Donavan."
"I think you know my name, already." I took his extended hand and grasped it.
"Yes. You can imagine how glad I am that you are here safe. It took me a while to locate you. Glasses and a large jacket were not included in the description." He laughed.
My hand flew to my mouth. "I forgot I even had them on. But they very literally saved my life. I'll tell you about it later." I removed the jacket, tucked the glasses in the pocket, and folded it over my arm. I looked at Donavan's neatly pressed black suit and white shirt, and was suddenly acutely aware of my rumpled appearance. I tried to smooth my hair back inconspicuously.
Donavan grinned. "Don't worry about how you look. After what you must have been through, your appearance is certainly excusable."
I managed a faint smile. "Thank you."
"My car is right by the curb. If you would care to join me?"
As if I would refuse. "I would be delighted." I followed Donavan out of the airport.
A shiny black Mercury sat idling by the curb. Donavan opened the front passenger door for me, and I slid in beside the driver. He got in the back.
"Okay. We're good to go," he said.
The driver pressed the accelerator and we sped out of the airport grounds. My head fell back against the seat, and my eyes shut. I simply savored the sweet sensation of being safe again.