They knew how to hit us and where to hit us—and when.  The only thing they didn’t seem to know is how hard we’d fight back.  Now we just have to figure out who the hell they were—and who our allies really are.

— Sarah Farragut, regarding the bombing of the provisional settlements at Tertius Prime, c. 4851

3 Eindecem, 5249 PD

            “Your system defenses are shit, Grumpy.”

            Adam grimaced, bracing himself against the edge of the console.  Above them hovered a map of the Eridani Trelasia system, complete with data on all of their defensive emplacements, patrol lines, and the locations of the few ships attached to the defense forces.  It wasn’t a very full map and some of the colors highlighting a few of the defensive emplacements and the orbital stations made it even worse.

            That attack cost us too dearly.  At least some of the orbitals would be salvageable, though it would take time.

            Of course, time was the one thing that Adam Windsor knew they didn’t have—not in any sort of abundance, that much was certain.

            Deacon stared at him, as if waiting for a response.  Adam sighed and shook his head.

            “Distance was supposed to keep us safer than any orbitals we have,” he said, the words tasting like ashes.  “Up until a few decades ago, no one gave a damn that we were out here.  The Foundation banked on that continuing.”  He sighed.  “We were fools, but we believed it, too.”

            “Not entirely.”  Deacon nodded to the map, waving a hand at the emplacements and ships.  “You wouldn’t have had even this much in place if you were expecting distance to be your only defense against the inner homosphere.”  He crossed his arms, staring at the maps for a long moment.  “But it’s not enough.  You’re right about that much.”

            Silence stretched between the two for a few long moments before Adam cleared his throat.  “How were your casualties up there?” His voice was quiet.  He hadn’t gotten to ask the question yet, though in truth he had been dreading it.  The men and women that had crewed Deacon’s forces were volunteers.

            So are mine.

            A quiet breath escaped the former professor.  “Better than yours, I think.  We pulled in some of your pilots on the way through the debris fields.  I think most of them will make it, but I’m not that kind of doctor.”

            Adam sighed.  “We don’t have the pilots to lose, either.”

            “Something tells me you don’t have the population period to lose.”  Deacon rubbed at his temple, shaking his head.  “Eridani Trelasia has all the resources a population needs to survive except for a population large enough to fight a war for that survival.”

            “Aptly put,” Adam murmured.  “Though I would argue that time is also a resource we don’t have.”

            “There are ways to buy that,” Deacon said, his voice grim.  “I’m just not sure any of us have the stomach for it.”  He regarded Adam with a long, silent look.  “Who else isn’t dead, Adam?”

            “You mean besides America and Grant?”

            A muscle twitched in Deacon’s jaw.  “He might have the stomach for it.”

            “America won’t let him out of her sight.  Not now, not with everything that’s happened to them—and none of us are about to let him go haring off god-knows-where at this point.”   No matter how much he wants to go haring off at this point to get the shit I hid.  Adam rubbed at his temple, staring blankly at the displays without actually seeing them.  He drew a deep breath, looked around.  They were alone.

            He deserves to know.

            He went and locked the door to the room.  Deacon quirked a brow, watching him.

            “You’re taking precautions for something,” the other man surmised as Adam walked back to where they’d been standing near the plots.

            “Always am,” Adam muttered.  “Not going to tell me it’s like old times?”

            Deacon gave an eloquent shrug, appropriating an empty chair with a good view of the map.  He leaned back, watching him.  “I could.  But it’s not, is it?  No matter who’s still alive, it’ll never be like old times again.”  Silence drew on for a few long moments, then Deacon asked, “How long have you known that Freder was alive?”

            “I’ve always known,” Adam said.  “I helped Daci get him to safety after what happened.  Rachel didn’t even know until a few weeks ago.”

            “Sneaky bastard.”  It was said simply, a statement of fact.  Adam didn’t smile.

            “He doesn’t remember who killed Mimir,” Adam continued.  “He thinks that he’d figured it out before he was attacked, but he’s not sure anymore and doesn’t remember the last few days before the attack.  If the information was archived anywhere other than his head, it’s never come to light.”  He crossed his arms, shaking his head slowly as he stared blankly at the starplot.  “And I doubt that anyone who was trying to kill him then would care if he said he doesn’t know now what he knew then.  They’d still try to kill him because they’d still think he’s a threat.”

            “Logic tracks, considering the prime suspects back then.  They never figured out who did it, didn’t they?”

            Adam’s lips barely moved as he spoke.  “I think they wanted to forget.”

            “Maybe some of them did,” Deacon agreed.  “But I can tell you that not all of them did.  How much of the feeds did you watch after it happened?”

            “Not many.  I was a little busy.”

            “Understandably so, I imagine.”  He dragged his chair over, closer to the plots, then settled again.  “You seem to have quite a bit more than I expected on your plate.”

            Adam grunted, glancing away from the plots to meet Deacon’s gaze.  “What’s on your mind, Deacon?”

            “What makes you think that—”

            “We’re both too old to play these games, at least right now, at least given what’s going on here now.  Whatever’s rattling around inside that skull of yours that you’re not saying I suggest you say before there’s not another chance.”

            Deacon winced, sitting back.  He cleared his throat.  “Fine,” he said, his voice quiet, caught somewhere between thoughtful and matter-of-fact.  “You need more allies, old friend, and you need them fast.  You have resources to spare, but you don’t have human resources to draw on.  You need to find a way to draw on what you do have and cultivate what you don’t and fast.”  He paused, then added, “Before whoever killed Mimir tries again here.”

            Adam’s stomach lurched.  He swallowed the bile that bubbled up at the back of his throat, staring at Deacon for a few seconds.  “You noticed.”

            “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

            Adam closed his eyes.  “Wouldn’t matter if I did or not,” he murmured quietly.  “In the moment, all it gave us with a vague semblance of what sort of pattern of events we could expect—a pattern thwarted by your timely arrival with those ships.”

            Deacon exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the plots.  “And I can’t do that twice.”

            “No,” Adam agreed quietly.  “You can’t.  But we’ll think of something.  We have to.  There’s not a choice.”

            “No.  No, there’s not.”  Deacon’s lips thinned.  “Most of my people said they’d stay on.  You’re working on getting their families here?”

            Adam nodded.  “Mission Systems has been a great help with that.  Within the next two weeks, they should all be here and settled either on-planet or on the Mission Systems station out in orbit of E-Trel IV.”

            “Good,” Deacon said, a faint note of relief in his voice.  “They’re good people, you know?  I’m lucky to have them.”

            “So you’ll be our admiral of the fleet, then?”  Adam glanced at him, watching the reflection of the plot’s light on Deacon’s face.  “Shepherd the cap ships up there?”

            “Did you really think I’d say no?”  Deacon looked at him.  “You don’t have anyone else qualified—closest thing would be you and we both know that you’re trying to juggle enough already.  Aidan and Daciana are able, but ship tactics aren’t their stock in trade.  They’re not trained for it the way you and I are and Grant’s got too much rust and not enough experience.”

            “Grant’s a guerrilla fighter,” Adam murmured.  “Guerrilla tactics and counterinsurgency—strange how they seem to go hand in hand, isn’t it?”

            “Don’t be getting all uncharacteristically thoughtful on me now, Grumpy,” Deacon said, crossing his arms.  “Stay on task.  You’ve got a system to defend.”

            “If you’re taking us up on our offer, so do you.”

            Deacon shrugged.  “True enough.  Do we know what kind of operations Mission Systems already has up and running out here?”

            “That’s a question for Mr. Scarelli,” Adam said.  “He hasn’t submitted a report on their disposition beyond letting us know that they escaped damage and they’re pulling sensor and visual logs of everything they can to see if they can give us more information on those ships if any of their people spotted them.”

            “Mm.  I’ll have to meet with him.  Is he on-planet?”

            Adam shook his head.  “Not right now, but he’s due to appear before the Council in a couple days.  He’ll probably be here tomorrow.  Do you want me to make introductions?”

            “I would be very appreciative,” Deacon said.  “Hopefully they’ll have what we need to get the ships repaired faster than if we were depending on just my people handling it.”

            “Probably would be helpful.”  Adam glanced at the plots again, eyeing the renderings of the damaged orbitals.  “I didn’t ask you.  Your wife’s people—you said they were Wanderers.”

            Deacon nodded.  “I did.  Good people.  We think they all made it, but there’s a couple cousins she hasn’t heard from yet.”

            “Where do you think they’ll go?” Adam asked quietly.  “The Whispers was as close to a home as any of them had beyond their ships.  Where will they make their port now?”

            “You say that like you’ve got thoughts on the subject.”

            Adam sighed.  “I don’t know what I’m thinking and the invitation wouldn’t come from me, anyway.  It would need to come from someone else.  Maybe Rachel.”  Maybe Linny-pie.  I don’t know.

            “Invitation?”  Deacon stood up, peering closely at him.  “What are you suggesting?”

            “They’ve always been good to us,” Adam murmured.  “Maybe now it’s time to return the favor.”

On Hiatus


I’m sorry to the folks who have been loyally reading for a couple of years now, but I am going to have to put Legacies of the Lost Earth on hiatus for a couple of months so I can devote my attention to actually finishing a few projects (another science fiction yarn, Redeemer, among them).  I hope you’ll understand and I’ll see you in September!

Please check out my published work on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and Kobo and check out my other serial, Awakenings, at

Keep your fingers crossed that I’ll have the print edition of The Last Colony out there for you all to see, too!


Sephora watched through the viewport alongside her seat as the station came into view, a pale beacon in the inky black of space. This had been the last place held by the Commonwealth where Winston had been before he’d headed to E-557. It would be the same with she and Ben. Her husband’s hand wrapped around hers, fingers squeezing.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just thinking. We’re nearly there.”

“Do you think there are any ships heading in that direction from here?” Ben asked, peering past her at the station in the distance.

“There must be,” Sephora said. “Mission Systems has been using the station as their base for the move of their operations. There will still be ships.” And if there’s not, I’ll think of something. “So far as I know, they’re not done moving yet.”

“We’ll have to hope.” Ben squeezed her hand again. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Letting me come with you. I’m glad you didn’t want to do this alone.”

She stared out the window, her fingers tight around his hand. “This is something I shouldn’t do alone. Besides, you were with me when it started all those years ago. You deserve to see it through as much as I do.” Her gaze drifted to meet his. “I love you, Ben.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured, then kissed her cheek. For a moment, she found herself wanting more than that, wanting it so badly that it hurt somewhere deep inside, but she pushed the feeling away, tucked it back into its corner—for now. There would be time enough for more later. Now wasn’t the time and here wasn’t the place.

“Will you make contact with them once we’re on the station?”

Sephora shook her head. “No. I’m hoping to run silent between here and there. The less communication from me, the safer everyone is.”

“Except us,” Ben said with a wry smile.

She snorted. “Especially us. Ben, if no one knows where we are, they can’t stop us and they can’t make us a target.”

His brows went up. “Is that something you learned from Freder Rose?”

“Among other things.” The fingers of her free hand brushed against his cheek. “There are other things he tried to teach me that I should have paid more attention to.”

“Like what?”

“I never should have let you go.” She stole a kiss from his lips, then smiled as she drew away, just staring at him.

“Mm.” He smiled back, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re right.”

“This time, at least.”

Her husband’s humor faded. “How long do you think we have until someone notices you’ve vanished and starts asking questions? Other than Padraig and your people?”

Sephora snorted softly. “No one pays attention to me whether I’m there or not. Two or three weeks, I’d guess. Hell. I’ll probably be announcing my findings before anyone notices I’m gone and damning someone in the process. Then they’ll notice and scream about it all.”

Ben laughed ruefully and she smiled, though sadly.

“It’s true. If I vanished and never came back? That would be the best day ever in conglomerate history. Oversight would vanish with me and they’d be able to do whatever they want.”

“And humanity would be doomed.”

Sephora shook her head, barely containing the chuckle that threatened. “You already sound like the Foundation.”

“Their methods may be extreme, but they were right about one thing.” Ben smiled grimly. “Without someone to save us from ourselves, humanity is doomed.”


Brendan jerked upright in his chair at the sound of the front door slamming open, blinking sleep from his eyes even as his hand automatically went for the sidearm that he should have been wearing. Instead, the gun lay on the coffee table four feet away. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the easy chair near the fireplace, but it had happened anyway.

If it had been anyone other than Alana and Ezra, there might have been trouble.

“What’s wrong?” Brendan asked, scrubbing his hand over his eyes and falling back into his chair.

Ezra shut the door as Alana collapsed onto the couch, her face white, pinched in pain. “Where’s Lindsay?” she asked.

“At Rachel’s with her parents, digging through old records and books, looking for more old alliances we might be able to take advantage of before this is over. Why?” He swallowed hard as his throat tightened. “What’s going on?”

“D’Arcy threatened you,” Ezra said, slumping against the door.

“Threatened me?”

“I was down by the beach clearing my head.” Alana shook her head, blinking rapidly, as if something had gotten in her eyes. “D’Arcy caught up with me down there. He—I—Brendan, he wants to hand you over to Chinasia.”

“Tell me something I didn’t already know,” Brendan said, swallowing the bile that crept up into his throat. “It’d get me out of the way. One less layer of protection for Lindsay and a way into the good graces of Chinasia Corp.”

“The bastard wanted her to help,” Ezra snarled. His eyes were dark with anger, his jaw tight and teeth grinding.

Breath hissed out of Alana and she shuddered. “I have never wanted to be so sick and have never wanted to murder someone so much as I did when I realized what he was suggesting. Just the thought that I would do that to Lindsay…”

“What did you say to him?” Brendan asked.

“I made an enemy today,” Alana said, her voice flat. “Does that answer your question?”

“He was never our friend,” Brendan whispered. He covered his face with his hands, stomach roiling as his heart began to beat faster, almost too fast. “Damn. Damn, damn.”

“What are we going to do?” Ezra asked, finally stepping away from the door and seating himself next to Alana. He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her tight against his side.

“There weren’t any witnesses to the conversation, were there?” Brendan already knew the answer.

There’s nothing we can do. D’Arcy gambled, but he still holds too many cards.

“You already know there wasn’t.”

“I was hoping to be wrong.” Brendan managed a weak, wry smile. He shook his head slowly. “There’s nothing we can do. He’s won this round. We’ll just have to be ready for round two.”

“Are we going to tell Lindsay?” Ezra asked, looking between them.

“It’ll just upset her,” Brendan said. “There’s nothing she can do.” She’ll be pissed as hell—pissed at D’Arcy, maybe enough to make her reckless. But if we don’t tell her, she’ll be pissed at us and maybe not as on guard as she should be. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “But she needs to know in case he tries something. He’s probably got something up his sleeve where she’s concerned, too.”

“He’s afraid of her,” Alana said in a whisper.

“I know,” Brendan said. “He’s afraid of anyone psychic, truth be known, he just tries to hide it—badly, but he tries.”

“The Morgause family never had problems with psychics before his generation,” Ezra murmured. “I wonder why he’s different from everyone else in his line.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Brendan said. “Either way, we have to deal with him and his being the way he is. There’s no other choice for us.”

“We could kill him.” Alana’s voice was almost too quiet to hear as she stared at a spot somewhere deep in the ground beneath the coffee table. “That would solve a lot of problems.”

“And bring up new ones,” Brendan said, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Alana, we can’t just kill him.”

“Why the hell not?” she whispered. “Treason, Brendan. He’s plotting treason against us all. He will tear the Foundation apart brick by brick with what he’s doing. He’ll gift-wrap us and hand us over to the congloms and he’ll think that he was right to bloody well do it.”

“We’re not going to let—”

“Let it happen?” Her chin came up and she stared at him, rage smoldering in her eyes. “What are we going to do to stop it?”

“I don’t know,” Brendan said, jaw tightening painfully. “But we’ll figure it out. Trust me on that.”


“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she snapped, glaring at Ezra. “Don’t even start. If there is one thing that I am more than welcome to get riled up about it’s this. He’s going to tear everything apart and pretend that he’s saving the Foundation and the colony and all he’ll really be doing is destroying the legacy that Sarah Farragut and Ryland LeSarte and their allies built when the Foundation began. D’Arcy will pretend it’s all for our own good and we’ll be damned lucky if we see the blows coming before they land, before we start to see the cracks. We have to figure this out and stop him dead in his tracks or we’re all screwed.”

“So do we tell Rachel?” Brendan watched Alana process the question, a maelstrom of emotion flicking through her eyes as she considered her answer.

“No,” she finally said. “No, this is the three of us—the four of us after you tell Lindsay.”

“Frederick Rose could help,” Brendan said quietly.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Alana said with a grimace. “Right now, it needs to stay between us. I’m not so sure Rose wouldn’t let it slip to his wife or to Rachel or Marshal Windsor. Better to keep it in-house for now.”

In house. A strange way to put it. Brendan shivered.

Things were, in fact, far worse than he’d ever thought they could be, his wife’s visions nonwithstanding. Things weren’t supposed to be this way.

Unfortunately, he didn’t control the world they lived in and things typically didn’t turn out the way they were supposed to. They just happened, for good or for ill, and they had to figure out what to do in the aftermath.

This was just another storm, and they’d have to find a way to make it through alive.



“Use him, but don’t trust him.”

Rachel snorted a laugh at Sergei’s words as he pressed a mug of coffee into her hands. The former Speaker’s cottage was comfortable, compact and snug, tucked into the edge of the words with raspberry bushes growing in a wild tangle in his shady yard. The old man had raised his children there, and it was there that he intended to live out the rest of his days in quiet obscurity, enjoying his grandchildren and old friends.

“I don’t have use for him, Sergei, if I can’t trust the information he gives me.” She sat down on his overstuffed couch and rested the mug against her knee. “Especially not when I have other options to fill his role.”

Sergei settled into an armchair, looking at her curiously. “Dare I ask who?”

“Freder Rose for one,” Rachel said, taking a sip of coffee. “Alana Chase.”

“And Brendan Cho, I imagine.” Sergei leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment.

“To a lesser degree,” Rachel said. “Brendan’s too honest, in some ways. Too noble.” For all that he knows, he’s unsuited to being a spymaster.

“The same could be said of Rose.”

“Freder knows where the bodies are buried,” Rachel said. He knows how to cut losses when it’s necessary. “He may be noble and honest, but he’s far from innocent and he knows the game. It almost got him killed.” She sighed. “I won’t take my chances with D’Arcy, Sergei. You’re braver than I am. I don’t trust him and I know he has an agenda—I just haven’t sorted out what it is yet. Whatever he’s playing at, though—Sergei, I know it’s not good for us.”

“Not good for the Guard refugees or not good for the Foundation?”

“Not good for anyone living here that doesn’t care for the methods the congloms employ or the Commonwealth’s handling of just about anything.” A shiver shot through her. “He has too many contacts there.”

“So does Rose. So do you.”

“We were born out there,” Rachel countered. “His family has been here for, what, five generations? It’s an unfair comparison.”

“Perhaps,” Sergei said. “But because his family—”

“I know.” Rachel leaned back, covering her eyes with her free hand. “I can’t move without proof—not to oust him outright, anyway, not to fire him. I have to be smart about this.”

“So you’ll use Chase and Rose informally.”

“Freder Rose will be my spymaster in all but name,” Rachel confirmed. “At least until I’ve got something to use against D’Arcy. As for the level of autonomy he’s been enjoying, though—that’s coming to an abrupt end. I need oversight in that department, regardless of whether I’ll be using what he tells me or not. I don’t care if he realizes that I don’t trust him. Maybe he’ll think twice before stabbing me in the back if he knows I’m wise to his games.”

Sergei arched a brow, sitting forward and leaning his elbows against his knees. “And who will you be saddling with the thankless task of spying on him and his operation?”

“I haven’t decided yet, but Alana is a likely candidate,” Rachel said. “Though I don’t know that he’d stand for it. For her, I mean. Possibly not even the oversight.”

“It strikes me that you don’t quite care what he’ll stand for, Rachel.”

“Maybe not, but I need him to play ball to some degree.” She sighed. “I’ll sleep on it and talk to Adam. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”

“Likely,” Sergei said. “I’m sorry that I’ve put you in this spot, Rachel. There wasn’t much choice.”

“It’s water under the bridge, Sergei. Don’t worry about it.” She gave him a brave smile. “I’ll do the job.”

Or I’ll die trying.

•   •    •

Her arm ached with a dull, faint throb, heralding the need to return home soon for another dose of pain medication and a request to Ezra to check on the progress of her recovery. As far as she could tell, her arm seemed to be getting better, stronger, but it was hard to judge. He was the expert. She still wore the sling and it still hurt, but she could move her fingers without pain most of the time, and she was able to feel sensations through them—definitely an improvement.

Alana sighed, turning away from the water. She’d come down to the shore for some air, to get away from the house and clinic where worry practically oozed from her lover’s every pore—worry for her, worry for the Commonwealth inspector under his care, worried for everyone in the damned Foundation. She loved him for his compassion, but right now it was in overdrive and suffocating her. She’d needed to escape.

She’d gone two steps when she spotted the slim figure not a dozen yards from her and she cursed.

If D’Arcy Morgause had meant to kill you today, you’d be dead. You’re getting soft in your retirement.

I won’t be letting that snake sneak up on me twice.

He stood watching her intently—intently enough that it set her skin to crawling—and was dressed in casual clothing, his hands empty and arms crossed against his chest. Alana frowned.

What’s he doing here?

“D’Arcy,” she greeted, her words clipped.

“I apologize,” he said. “I’ve startled you.”

“What do you want?” She shifted her jacket slightly, her good hand itching to be filled by a knife’s handle, a gun’s grip—something. Sadly, she’d left her weapons at home—a choice he was suddenly regretting now.

His brows went up. “Why would you think that I wanted something?”

Alana barely suppressed an annoyed sigh. “Because I’m not an idiot, D’Arcy. What do you want?”

“Chinasia’s offered a very handsome sum for Brendan Cho.”

Is that some kind of threat? Her eyes narrowed. “He’s not property and neither am I.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were,” D’Arcy said mildly. “But I know you’re smart enough to recognize an opportunity when it arises.”

Alana killed the urge to try to cross her arms—that would only end in pain from her shoulder to her fingertips and right now she needed all of her faculties focused on the spymaster’s little game of intrigue. Her heart started to beat a little faster, her stomach going sour. “What opportunity do you assume I’m seeing here?”

“It’s no secret you don’t like him.”

She stared at him. “He’s Lindsay’s husband.”

“Yes, he is Bonded to the vaunted Oracle.”

“You’re suggesting I hand someone mentally linked to my cousin over to a conglomerate that tortured her mother-one that will probably take Commander Cho apart just to see what makes him tick. Psychics don’t fly for Chinasia.”

“I’m aware of that,” D’Arcy said, a coldness in his eyes even as his expression remained impassive.

“Why would I do that? Never mind the fact that it would absolutely destroy Lindsay to lose him—that more than anything else would stay my hand in this because I love my cousin even if I don’t love the choices she makes—but I’ve seen what that kind of torture can be like and I wouldn’t condemn anyone to it.” Alana sucked in a sharp breath. “What are you thinking, D’Arcy? What you’re suggesting is monstrous.”

“I’m trying to think of the Foundation above all,” the spymaster said, his tone vaguely annoyed. “You know that they won’t stop and we can’t stand against them if they turn the full might of their military on us. All of this will disappear and we’ll end up crushed under their boot. What’s one man’s life measured against that?”

Your math sucks, Morgause. Alana shook her head. “It’s more than one man—much more than one man. Lindsay’s pregnant with his child. What’s to stop Chinasia from demanding the child as well? Or demanding that we give America Farragut back to them? They held her prisoner for a lot of years. Don’t forget, too, that the Compact wants me and wants Grant Channing so badly I can taste it from here and I haven’t served them since I as a bleeding teenager—and they have a blood claim on both of us, exactly like Chinasia has on Brendan. Then there’s all the refugees that have found their way here over the last ten years. Don’t you see how wide you’re trying to kick this door with what you’re suggesting? It’s borderline treason.”

“There’s nothing treasonous about this conversation,” D’Arcy said. “I haven’t suggested that you actually do anything. You’re the one that’s making some rather rash assumptions of my meaning here. Call it a warning. Call it a friendly service.” He smiled a snake’s smile at her, one that reminded her of a viper about to strike. “Watch your step, Chase. I doubt you’ll be protected forever, and that prevaricating mind of yours could get you into a great deal of trouble, I’m afraid.”

“You’re a monster,” Alana whispered, almost too quiet to be heard.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said. “We’re done here. Stay away from Lindsay. Stay the hell away from Lindsay.”

Feeling sick to her stomach, Alana squared her shoulders, straightened her spine, and marched past D’Arcy Morgause, headed toward home.

She didn’t start running until she was out of his sight.

Forty-Eight (Part 2) – Redux

[This section of chapter 48 has been rewritten…]

“This Council will come to order.”

Rachel barely suppressed the urge to shudder at the terse, stern tenor of Sergei’s voice.

This meeting is going to end badly, she thought, pressing her hands hard against the wood of the tabletop before her. Then again, you already expected that it might.

It was to be the last council meeting with Sergei at the body’s head and it had already started as inauspiciously as she’d feared, with D’Arcy Morgause picking a fight. Then and there she’d decided that the sooner they managed to oust D’Arcy from the Rose Council—possibly even E-557—the better.

The question was how that particular feat would be accomplished—and how much damage would the man do before they managed to deal with him once and for all?

That sounds incredibly final, she thought, barely keeping a grimace from her face. As much as she might have wanted to see him out of the way, actually killing the man didn’t seem like a valid option.

Then again, depending on what he does in the coming days and weeks, we may not have a choice.

Her niece caught her eye, a slightly alarmed expression on her face. Rachel checked herself and turned her attention abruptly to Sergei, who was waiting patiently for the uproar to die away, a vein in his neck pulsing alarmingly.

She stood up and cleared her throat. “The Speaker said come to order,” she bellowed, putting more force behind the words than was perhaps strictly necessary.

The sudden silence that reigned in the council chambers was deafening as all eyes suddenly went to her. Rachel leaned forward against her palms, forcing herself to be calm, to keep her temper in check. “Now all of you sit down and we’ll discuss this like adults. Whether anyone in this room likes it or not, the Inspector General is on her way here and we will receive her with all courtesy due a Commonwealth official of her rank and stature.”

Frederick leaned back in his seat, poker-faced as he watched the council. It had been the simple announcement that Sephora Damerian was on her way to E-557 that had sparked the ruckus that had erupted almost as soon as they’d reached their seats that morning, and that announcement had come from his lips. He was sitting with Lindsay and Brendan, not with the Marshals, which sent a statement all its own.

The look D’Arcy shot in his direction was nothing short of murderous, which left Rachel’s stomach twisting uncomfortably.

She wasn’t entirely sure why D’Arcy had apparently taken a near-instant dislike to Freder Rose, but it was certainly in evidence.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Sergei said, smoothly reacquiring control of the situation. She sank back down into her chair as he rose, gaze raking over the assemblage. “Whether any of us like it or not, we are the council that is tasked with carrying the people of the Foundation and the colony through this war.”

“There is no war,” D’Arcy said stubbornly. “This is a misunderstanding that we should be able to work through. Perhaps if we send an envoy to New Earth—”

“Are you volunteering for that, D’Arcy?” Kara Grace asked, her eyes narrowing. “Are you volunteering to go plead our case before the legislature and hoping that they don’t laugh us out of the chambers? You can’t act as if they give a damn that we were attacked here. The propagandists are already turning us into the villains over the Whispers. You know that. You’ve seen the reports.”

“Isolated reports, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure that the Inspector General will be able to tell us exactly how isolated those reports are when she arrives,” Lindsay said, her voice deceptively mild. Rachel bit the inside of her cheek to kill a smile. The girl was learning, and quickly, and she detected no small amount of America in her “Until then, we have to labor under the assumption that the attack that we repulsed was only the opening salvo for something much larger and much more dangerous.”

“We have no evidence—”

“Mission Systems is here,” Adam said, breaking the silence he’d been cultivating since the meeting commenced. “That should be evidence enough. You don’t move your entire operation and agree to abide to our way of life because you just feel like it. No, you do that because you know something—that the Commonwealth is becoming hostile to anything and everyone that certain conglomerates don’t agree with, don’t like.”

“The psychic refugees are corroborating the reports we’ve gotten,” Lindsay added. “About the propaganda, about the violence and the shift in behavior. There’s something bad happening inside of the Commonwealth, D’Arcy. Can’t you see that?”

His eyes narrowed. “I see what you refuse to see—that there are other explanations for what’s been happening. We can’t jump on one bandwagon because it’s convenient for us to do so. No. We have to look into everything, question everything.

“I will not agree to a war that we cannot win simply because a few psychics and a small conglomerate say we’re being vilified and should fight back.”

Forty-eight (part 1)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sephora murmured, her fingers tightening around Ben’s hand and clutching the case Frederick had given her so many years ago. The boarding tube for their transport felt like it was a hundred miles long rather than a hundred feet. “This is crazy.”

Ben’s lips brushed against her ear. “The universe has gone crazy,” he said softly. “This is the only smart choice right now, our only chance to get to the bottom of all of it, right?”

She swallowed hard and tried to will some steel into her spine. When had the fear taken such a strong grip on her? “You’re right. And it’s my job to sort it all out.” Mine and no one else’s. If that makes me a pariah, makes me expendable to the government—well, then I suppose I was on the wrong side all along then, wasn’t I?

She shivered at the thought.

“I still wish Padraig was coming, too, though,” Sephora said, then sighed.

“He had his reasons for staying and he was right to do it.” Ben let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her a brief, tight squeeze. “It doesn’t hurt to have someone here to keep us posted, Seph.”

She nodded. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I don’t like it either.” Ben let go and nodded to the tunnel. “Let’s get going. We’re likely holding up the transport.”

Sephora snorted. “Doubtful. There’s more than just us that they’re waiting on.” She squared her shoulders and started walking again, down the boarding tube toward the transport’s airlock. The trip out to the outer reaches would be long, but she was prepared for that. It had been a long time since she’d been away from New Earth. At the very least, this trip would let her see what was happening beyond the narrow confines of her environment—to see what she’d been sending her inspectors out into for years.

“Did you mean it?” Ben asked her abruptly as they walked away from the attendant minding the airlock, the one that scanned their tickets and welcomed them aboard. Sephora looked at her husband, startled.

“Did I mean what?”

“What you said about a family,” Ben clarified as they found their way to their cabin.

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him. “Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

He turned, brows knitting. “I just—Seph, I never thought we could. I never thought that you and I would…”

She shrugged. “Well, I did. I’m sorry that it didn’t happen.”

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “There’s still time.”

Maybe there was. They’d have to make it through this mess first, though.

She took his hand. “I guess you’re right about that.” She smiled. “Come on. I’ve got a lot to catch you up on before we make it to the colony.”

Her husband smiled and dutifully trailed behind her in her wake.


She tested her arm gingerly, barely managing to conceal her wince as pain danced up and down the limb from her reconstructed fingers on up to her shoulder. It was better, though–much better than it had been only a few days before.

Alana grimaced. “Now if only I could convince a particular doctor that I’m not going to fall over sideways if he lets me out of bed…”

“I heard that.”

She twisted and was pleased to find that the motion didn’t make her dizzy. Another improvement over the past few days. “I didn’t hear you come in, Ezra.”

“I figured.” He straightened from his lean in the doorway and came to sit next to her on the bed. He looked tired, dark shadows ringing his eyes and a slump to his shoulders. She rested her good hand on his knee and squeezed gently.

“You look like hell,” she said.

“I kind of feel like it, too.” Ezra reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. “No change to Winston’s condition. We could be in trouble.”

“He’ll be all right,” Alana said softly. “He’s got the best doctor in the known galaxy looking after him.”

Ezra snorted and shook his head, leaning forward and resting his elbows against his knees. “If you say so. Right now, I really don’t feel like I measure up to that particular honor.”

“You do.” Alana leaned against him, careful of her still-tender arm. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

“That, Brendan, and missing you.” Ezra smiled up over his shoulder at her and reached up to trace the curve of her jaw with a fingertip. “Brendan should mend well enough. He’s much better than he was. But Winston…”

“He’ll be fine.” Alana kissed his cheek gently. “Just like Brendan and I.”

“Mm. This is a prelude to something, isn’t it?”

“I need to get out of here, Ezra. I’m going nuts.”

He arched a brow at her and she sighed. “I mean it,” she said. “I need to get out of here, get some air–go for a walk, a run, something. Keeping me cooped up like this is inhumane.”

“One condition,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“You stay on your medication and you tell me where you’re going, when you’re going.”

Alana’s nose wrinkled. “That’s actually two conditions.”

“Whatever. Are you going to agree or not?”

“You don’t even have to ask.” She kissed him again, giving him the soft, gentle smile she reserved for him and him alone. “I’m going to put some clothes on and walk to the cafe. Do you want me to bring back some dinner for you?”

“I will not say no to dinner,” Ezra said, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. “Don’t be long, huh?”

“I won’t. Take a nap.”

“I’ll try,” he murmured. She gave him a gentle push backward, toward the pillows.

“Take a nap, Ezra.”

He let her press him down and smiled sheepishly. “That bad?”

“That bad. I’ll be back in an hour. Sleep.”

He gave her a faint grin. “Yes ma’am.”

All Alana could do was kiss him again and laugh.

Due to 19th Annual GVSU Renaissance Festivals, no update this week

Due to my slow recovery from being at the GVSU Renaissance Festival this past weekend and getting far too little sleep and spending far too much time in the sun, there will be no update this week.  Stay tuned for the next update, when we’ll figure out what Alana’s been doing since waking up with a raging fever!