Blood Legacy Origin of Species (27 page)

“Um, you can go, dear.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said politely, then gathered her things. Both watched as the perfect form loped gracefully down the ramp into the terminal.

“I can block their perception,” Ryan said as she reached Susan and Edward, “but I can’t block the machine’s. And I must say,” she said as she put her shoes back on, “that out of all of the indignities I’ve suffered in my life, which have included such memorable events as the near-rape by a member of an alien species, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so violated.”

They were able to board the plane without further spectacle. Ryan made certain she was nearly undetectable to everyone around her and had determined to try and meditate to pass the flight. She sat on the aisle, Susan to her left, and Edward at the window. All three were cramped, but Ryan especially so as her knees were pressed against the seat in front of her. The plane took off smoothly and quickly reached an altitude where the lights above them went off, indicating something had just occurred or was allowed to occur, although Ryan was not quite certain what either of those things might be.

A clatter to her right attracted her attention. A thin, pale young man was wrestling with a laptop computer that was suddenly jammed into his chest when the seat in front of him came hurtling backward. Ryan gazed at him with sympathy. He was already crushed on his right by the overweight woman spilling over the shared armrest into his seat. Now he was crushed from the front by the rude individual who fully reclined his seat back.

Ryan’s attention was immediately drawn forward as the seat in front of her came hurtling rearward. It came to a stop inches from her face. A feeling of claustrophobia overtook her.

“Now this is just poor design,” she muttered to herself. She leaned forward and tapped the shoulder of the person who was now practically sitting in her lap.

“Do you think you might move forward a bit?” she asked politely.

“Get bent,” the man in front of her said, “it’s my seat.”

Edward started to get up out of his seat, the slight to his master enraging him, but Ryan waved him off. The pale young man next to her watched the situation unfold, wishing he had the courage to intervene. Susan was amazed at how calmly Ryan was responding to the rudeness, an estimation that quickly changed.

Ryan adjusted her position in her seat, resting her knees on the framing of the seat in front of her. Without effort and in an extremely casual maneuver, she shifted her weight and began pushing her knees forward. Not only did the seat back begin to move, but with a shriek and protest of metal, the entire framework began to move as it bent, shifting both the seat and occupant forward.

“What the—?”

The man in front of her turned around in his seat and froze. Ryan was no longer hiding from him. He stared into gray eyes flecked with violet, eyes that burned a hole right through him. All words died on his lips, then coagulated into a thick mass in his throat that nearly choked him. Wordlessly, he turned back around, pressed the button on his armrest, and brought his seat into its upright position. In his new location, he no longer had any room between him and the seat in front of him, but he no longer cared.

Ryan cast a dark glance at the man forward and to the right of her, the one who had crushed the pale young man. He had watched the exchange with wide eyes and now he, too, wordlessly brought his seat to its upright position and promptly returned his attention forward.

Ryan stretched in her new-found space, turning to the red-haired woman next to her.

“And what is this—?” she said, waving her hand about her, “What is this called again?”

“Economy class,” Susan replied, suppressing a smile.

“Never again,” Edward said sternly.

CHAPTER 19

THE GAMBLE OF THE COMMERCIAL FLIGHT paid off. Although Edward had spent the entire time feeling trapped in the metal tube, certain they would be captured the minute they landed, the remainder of their trip had gone smoothly. Ryan had suffered no bouts of amnesia or loss of control, and once on the ground they had reached their destination quickly.

And now Edward analyzed the encrypted message before him. It would be their last contact before going underground, at which time they would enter the agreed period of non-communication. Both Ryan and Victor were wary of the technology of their opponents and agreed that silence would be a good temporary tactic, at least until they could figure out what to do.

“What does it say?” Ryan asked.

“Your father, Aeron, and the boys have reached their destination. They will not contact us again for two weeks.”

A surge of relief filled Ryan. But it seemed there was something Edward was not saying.

“And what else?” she asked.

Edward re-read the message, just to make certain he was interpreting it correctly. He sighed.

“Abigail was contacted and apprised of events. However, attempts to contact Kusunoki were unsuccessful.”

“They were unable to reach him?”

“No,” Edward said.

The words were like a blow. “Let’s get below ground,” Ryan said, turning on her heel and stalking away.

“Tra’e’ela,” the servant said, bowing.

The blonde woman eyed the servant. As was common, it was both a name and a title, one greatly respected and feared throughout their vast empire. And one seemingly at odds with the minimal requirements of this mission. Even odder was the fact that this was the second time she had been sent to this planet, a speck of dust that appeared to have little if any value. Granted, a few of these mutations exhibited interesting abilities, but the Empress was not known for her patience. Normally this place would have been razed long before the experiment achieved its few successes. With so many options and overwhelming force at her disposal, her Majesty generally just cut her losses and moved on.

“Yes?” she prompted.

“We followed the father and the son as you directed and have assumed positions outside their new sanctuary. They are sequestered in another underground bunker similar to the first. Per your instructions, the men you chose are providing surveillance but have not made a move on the compound.”

This was good news, but not entirely what she wished to hear.

“And the girl?”

Her servant cleared his throat uneasily. “As you anticipated, she fled just prior to the arrival of our troops. Although she was tailed by the Trackers for a short distance, they were unable to stay with her. ”

“So she eluded them,” Tra’e’ela said.

This was interesting. It was nearly impossible to escape from the Trackers because of their extraordinary sensory abilities. They could detect even minor temperature variations and the subtlest of scents. They were generally able to adapt quickly to whatever biological defense mechanisms prey utilized. And if their personal abilities were inadequate to the task, they deployed a wide array of technology that could identify and capture just about anything.

“So you have no idea where she is now.”

“No.”

Tra’e’ela mused over this turn of events, again unsurprised.

“And her closest companions?”

“Another has been captured and is in transport. One is with the father and son. And we are moving in on the last.”

“Very well,” she said, “keep me informed.”

Abigail sat in her drawing room, enjoying the cool breeze that lifted her filmy curtains, causing them to flutter ever-so-gently. She had dismissed most of her staff and the vast estate was quiet. The few servants that remained had been given explicit orders; now she was merely waiting. She lifted her head, tilted it to one side, then smiled ever so slightly.

Outside, the shock troops stealthily approached the mansion. They knew this mission was dangerous; this target was rumored to be very powerful. Their tension grew the closer they got and they moved furtively up the great stairway. Their stealth shields flickered, changing with the terrain as light bent around the surface. They paused, silently communicating via hand signals to surround the structure and all exits. There was a collective pause in preparation for the launch of the attack, then they began skulking across the huge front porch to the double doors.

And they were greatly surprised when one door opened and a very calm man greeted them.

“Can I help you?” the chief consort asked politely.

Normal procedure would have been to rush him, take him to the ground and deliver a killing strike before an alarm could be raised. But for whatever reason, they did no such thing. They stood upright from their crouched positions, suddenly feeling foolish. The stealth shields flickered, then apparently underwent some sort of technical glitch and went off entirely.

“Please come in,” the consort said with ineffable courtesy.

The heavily armed band squeezed into the house, jostling one another uncertainly in the doorway. It could be a trap, but they seemed to have morphed from highly trained commandos into a rag-tag group of ill-trained novices.

Abigail looked up as they pressed into the drawing room. “Can I help you?” she said, replicating both her servant’s words and his calm manner.

The soldiers were now completely at a loss. They had expected a fierce battle, anticipated numerous casualties, had even drawn up contingency plans were the mission to fail. What they had not expected was that their quarry would be casually waiting for them, nor that they would act so completely out of character in response. The commander stepped forward.

“You are to come with us,” he said gruffly, for some reason still feeling foolish. He was beginning to hate these people.

“Very well,” Abigail said sedately, “let me get my things.”

And the men stood there while Abigail left the room. They seemed rooted to the spot, looking at one another uncertainly, knowing that at least one of them should have followed her but none seeming capable of the act. Abigail returned carrying a small bag.

“I am ready to go,” she said. She glanced to her consort. “Please care for things in my absence.”

The servant nodded and the men escorted their prisoner from the room. As she swept gracefully down her staircase, she hardly appeared a prisoner as not a single soldier was willing to touch her, or even in fact get too close. She appeared almost a dignitary, her escort provided unwillingly and involuntarily by the bemused commandos.

Susan shined the penlight in Ryan’s pupils, then replaced the instrument in her pocket.

“You seem to be doing well,” she commented, “you’ve gone almost a week and half without a phase shift.”

“That figures,” Ryan said, “the one time I might welcome some forgetfulness to pass the hours.”

“I still wish I could figure out the timing and pattern of the phases,” Susan said.

“Do you think there is pattern?” Ryan asked. “It seems so random.”

“I agree,” Susan said, looking at the chart in which she had studiously recorded the time, length, and frequency of the shifts. “But it keeps gnawing at me that there’s something I’m missing.”

Movement caught Ryan’s attention, something from the corner of her eye. She turned to find Petrus perched on a chair. She frowned at him, and Susan turned to see what she was looking at. It was clear she saw nothing, and turned back to Ryan with an assessing gaze.

“Have you been able to meditate at all?” Susan asked.

“No,” Ryan said, “nor have I been sleeping. My entire life I’ve slept an obscene amount of time and now that I want to, I can’t sleep at all.”

“I would offer a sedative, but I have nothing that would affect you.”

Petrus was making various faces at her over Susan’s shoulders. His reappearance and misbehavior were unwelcome to Ryan.

“You’re such an asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

“Excuse me?” Susan said.

Ryan was embarrassed. “Not you,” she said quickly, “I was just thinking about someone else.”

This struck Susan as particularly strange. Ryan was not one to use profanity, let alone spout it out spontaneously. She turned back to the empty corner. Perhaps this was a sign of some additional mental defect. She would have liked to run another PET scan on Ryan, but they had not had time to move the medical equipment.

“Alright,” Susan said slowly, “well, as usual I can’t find anything wrong with you.”

“You mean other than the fact that I clearly have Tourette’s syndrome.”

Susan patted her on the shoulder. “Maybe you should try to rest.”

The door whispered closed behind Susan and Ryan leaned back sighing. She turned a baleful eye toward Petrus.

“And why the hell are you back?”

“Didn’t you miss me?” he said gleefully, bouncing across the room like some gelatinous blob.

“No,” Ryan said, “I didn’t think we were making any progress in our therapy sessions.”

Petrus settled down in front of her, his eyes glowing.

“And how do you feel right now?”

“How am I supposed to feel?” Ryan said sarcastically, “Marilyn, Ala, and Kusunoki have disappeared. My mortal enemies have re-appeared. I have no idea if my father and son are safe, and I’m sitting in a bunker talking to—,” she stopped, shaking her head, “I have no idea what you are.”