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“He’s playing softball. I told you to level the big guns on Nichols, and I meant it. She isn’t the only woman who’s forgotten her place. I suggest you fall in line, or maybe your affairs and the year of whoring on Dantovon will make you front page news.”
Blythe paled, but she stood straighter. Though Mitchell’s voice had risen, threatening to be overheard by those nearby, she refused to check to see if anyone looked their direction.
She spoke softly, her tone as sweet as poison. “Why did you pay your intern David Grange’s entire university tuition and set his parents up with a generous business grant on Mercy two years ago? He worked for you a mere six weeks. Such a short time to grow so close…though I understand you have an agreement to never contact him again.”
Mitchell damned near turned purple. His eyes bugged, and Selt hoped he was watching the bastard have a heart attack. He certainly wouldn’t try to save him.
Mitchell failed to drop dead, to the Nobek’s disappointment. However, he did step back.
“Watch yourself, missy. You can’t tell spout lies if you can’t speak.” Maybe he intended to grin, but it looked like a snarl. “If you know about Grange, then you’ve probably heard about Simons’ shuttle accident.”
“The intern you had prior to Grange.” Her eyes rounded.
“It would’ve looked strange for two in a row, but years have passed. No accidents for a while, so there’s room for another. You remember that.”
He stormed off. A few curious gazes followed him, then swung to Blythe. She sank in her chair.
She muttered to herself. Selt had to strain to hear. “You might be fucked, Nelson. New Earth, same old bullshit show.”
Chapter Nine
Selt’s blood had run cold at Mitchell’s threat. He didn’t know the particulars of the situations involving the speaker’s past interns Grange and Simons, but he could guess at a good deal of what was alluded to. Particularly the referenced “accident.”
He checked the time and cursed. Kuran would have left for the day. It could be his superior wouldn’t agree Blythe needed personal around-the-clock surveillance for her safety, especially since she was followed by nanobots. She wasn’t a government official, after all. It might be better to avoid checking in.
Hoping his Dramok was still on the job, Selt plucked his com from its pouch on his belt.
Deram answered. “I hope your detail isn’t as boring as mine,” he said by way of greeting. He was phased while patrolling the legislative section of the General Assembly.
“Not by half.” Selt briefly described the conversation between Blythe and Mitchell.
“Did Kuran clear extended in-person surveillance?”
“Kuran’s gone for the day.” Selt omitted he hadn’t checked to verify it. “As his second, I’m assuming responsibility for Matara Blythe’s safety. I’m sorry I won’t be home tonight, my Dramok.”
It was strange to outrank Deram. The long pause following his declaration told the Nobek it had struck his clan leader too.
When Deram spoke, there was a chuckle in his tone. “Is there anything you wish me to do before I finish my shift, sir?”
Blythe was gathering her belongings, readying to leave for the day. Selt noted how her hands trembled.
“You can pray to the ancestors no one moves against my subject. If they do, they won’t see the light of morning.”
* * * *
Kalquor
Ilid woke gasping. He felt restraints tying him down in the blindingly bright room and fought to break free.
The sound of fabric ripping brought him halfway from of the nightmare of Dr. Umen standing over him brandishing a laser cutter, readying to open his skull. Falling out of bed woke him the rest of the way.
Ilid sat up, his back resting against the tall mat, which lay directly on the floor of his room in the psychiatric center. His tank top hung strangely, and he realized it was torn. No doubt he’d ripped it during his frantic attempts to escape in the dream. It wasn’t the first time he’d shredded his sleeveless shirts or loose-fitting pants, the clothing of a patient, since being remanded to the fleet’s psychiatric hospital.
He scanned the room, the lights left up on full power to dispel shadows while he’d slept. He registered his torn clothing clinging to him like a second skin, thanks to a thick layer of sweat.
He verified there were no Darks. Then he covered his face with his hands and sobbed as his heart began the process of slowing down.
Breathe, Ilid. Breathe, my son.
