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V1794 Cygni System
GMS Alan Dean Foster
02/23/42 NR 0735 Hours
The view outside the oversized porthole was spectacular. The Genevan fleet was approaching this system’s single, unnamed gas giant, a monster five times the size of Sol’s Jupiter. Brilliant blue and green cloud bands encircled the massive planet, and a swirling disc of dark blue marked where a massive storm raged in the planet’s northern hemisphere. Dozens of moons shepherded the giant along in its orbit, and four of the larger ones were visible.
The wormhole was six hours away, and the leading scouts had transited to the next system, performed a short survey, and returned to report the wormhole was safe for transit. The transports would follow the scouts, then the repair ships, and finally the remaining warships would transit.
That was just as well, because the Terran task force had transited the wormhole behind them three days before. They would be able to obtain the entry vector, and continue pursuing the fleeing Genevans into the next star system. The Terran warships were accelerating hard to catch them, and, unless the following wormhole was close to this one, the transports would be in extreme missile range in another thirty-four hours.
Admiral Aaron Peters paid scant attention to the view from Foster’s boat bay. He stepped from the shuttle and nodded to the officer of the deck.
“Good morning, Admiral.” She inclined her head in a respectful nod. “The Captain sends her compliments. I understand that you are here to see Adam Thomas?”
Aaron had specifically instructed that no special attention be paid to himself and his team when he came aboard. “That’s correct, Lieutenant.”
“Very well, Sir. If you and your party will follow me?” She turned on her heel and marched off, with Aaron, Kayla, George, and a handcuffed Luisa in her wake. The transport was even more massive than the original colony ship that had brought the settlers to New Geneva, and Aaron took a moment to marvel at the vessel. Luisa bumped lightly against him as they entered one of the main lifts, and his thoughts turned to her.
She made a point of not looking at him, and he could hardly blame her. Aaron had ordered that she not be allowed to sleep after their last confrontation, and the tactic had taken its toll on the Martian woman. After three days of sleep deprivation, Luisa’s eyes were bloodshot, and had circles under them so dark it appeared she had been struck in the face. The lift started moving, and she lurched against him. He grasped her arm, and she leaned against him, too exhausted to even protest.
Kayla and George had pleaded with, threatened, and berated her for hours, and she had not uttered a single word. It was all Aaron could do to allow the interrogations to continue, and he’d had little sleep and nothing to eat in the last day. He held her close to him, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
The lift stopped, and Luisa lifted her head. She was beyond tired, and the lift doors were an indistinct blur. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, for she had refused even water. Eating was out of the question; her stomach was a knot of iron bars, and she had vomited when Kayla had forced her to eat something. She concentrated on the doors, and they swam into focus. Aaron moved forward, and Luisa somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other.
She hated Aaron with every fiber of her being. Her emotions seethed as he led her, shackled like a common criminal, down the passageway. If she could have found a transmitter, she would have gladly sent every scrap of information to the Terrans in their wake, and cheered as the Genevan ships burned. For now, all she could do was walk wherever she was lead, one step at a time.
Finally, the walk ended, and she was allowed to sit down. The room whirled, but Luisa fought the sensation stubbornly. Her stomach roiled, but she’d long since vomited up everything, and she tried to swallow. Aaron, or was it him, the bastard, was saying something. An argument? A man stood in front of her in a while lab coat; his skin was black in sharp contrast to the garment. More talking, and she could no longer understand what was being said. The room spun with a vengeance, and Luisa could no longer fight it. Blackness came for her, and she knew no more.
Cool air blew gently into her nose, and Luisa’s eyes popped open. She sniffed and wiped at her nose, and her hand encountered a plastic tube lying just above her upper lip. Dim light filtered into her awareness, and she rolled her head to her right. A medical monitor stood next to her bed, and she was lying on her back with her torso elevated. A hospital?
The knot in her stomach was gone, and Luisa blinked several times as her head cleared. She flexed her limbs, and then ran her hand down her chest and stomach. Nothing hurt, and there were no dressings or casts in evidence. She tried to sit up, but the movement was too much for her. Panic tried to set in, and she grimly fought it down.
Other than the weakness, Luisa felt better than she had in what seemed like weeks. Aaron’s thugs had given her no rest, coming in hour after hour to question her. The questions were always variations of who had helped her. She turned the matter over in her mind. Michael Ozawa had provided her the ID and passcard that allowed her to continue filing her reports. He’d told her to report to David Matthews when she left New Geneva, and she’d done so, until David was killed.
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