Heaven's Queen (5 page)

“You look very nice,” he said softly, giving me a slow, warm smile.

I looked like a drowned dock rat in a stolen shirt, but I already knew firsthand that Rupert didn’t see the truth when it came to me. I also knew that I didn’t have the energy to handle how happy that smile made the deep, stubborn part of me that couldn’t seem to understand that Rupert was a risk I was
not
taking again. I didn’t have the energy left to do anything, actually.

The exhaustion I’d felt in the shower had multiplied exponentially with every minute I’d spent upright. It was so bad now I was actually swaying on my feet. As much as I wanted to talk strategy with Rupert before passing out, my body clearly had other more pressing priorities, and so, mumbling something about bed, I turned away from Rupert and started back up the stairs. I made it about halfway before Rupert caught me.

I have to admit, I didn’t protest too hard when he picked me up. If I’d felt better, I would have told him to keep his hands to himself, but I didn’t feel better. I felt terrible, and I was ready to take my not walking where I found it. I didn’t even grumble when Rupert carried me into the green shaded bedroom and laid me down on a couch under the windows that smelled strongly of dust and soypen.

I think he must have made the bed after that. I heard the sound of cloth rustling before Rupert scooped me up again only to set me down seconds later on a much softer, smoother surface that smelled of closet. The last thing I felt was the soft brush of his lips on my cheek before I passed out, falling into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep between one breath and the next.

I woke up slowly, blinking in the soft light. It had been so long since I’d woken up to real sunlight instead of an alarm, an emergency, or ship lights coming on for day cycle that I didn’t recognize it at first. I did, however, recognize the almost invisible shape floating like a dust mote in the sunbeam.

A phantom was hanging in the air not a foot from the edge of the bed. It was slightly bigger than the ones I usually saw, with a bulbous body about the size of my fist and three long feelers attached to what I could only guess was its head. The feelers were hanging limply when I opened my eyes, but then, almost like the phantom knew I’d woken up, the little tentacles started to move.

I sighed, waiting for the little glowing bug to scoot away, but it didn’t. The phantom stayed right where it was, waving its three little appendages with increasing speed, almost like it was trying to get my attention. The behavior was so odd, I reached for it without thinking, stretching my fingers out to meet the glowing tendrils.

I’d barely moved my arm before the phantom bolted through the window, its frosted glass body vanishing instantly into the bright sunlight outside. I stared after it for a moment, and then reached up to rub my eyes. I was contemplating rolling over when a soft, warm, accented voice spoke right beside me.

“Good afternoon.”

I must have jumped a foot off the mattress. I landed hard a second later, flipping onto my side to see Rupert leaning over the bed with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t
do
that,” I snapped, collapsing back into bed. I was still trying to get my jacked-up heart rate back down to normal when I realized there was something odd about our arrangement.

The bedroom couch, the one that had been pushed up under the window, was now right beside the mattress, its green upholstery well dusted and covered in a neat spread of electronics. Apparently, Rupert had set up shop. In addition to the com receiver and the ledger he’d requisitioned, he’d also laid out his gun and his stack of leather badges in a grid beside him for easy access. There was a notebook on the nightstand at his elbow, and his bag was tucked away behind his feet. He even had a mug of that bitter black stuff Terrans like to drink in his hand. Coffee, I thought it was called.

“Couldn’t get a good signal downstairs?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at his setup.

Rupert shrugged and sat back, sipping his drink. “The signal was fine,” he replied a little too casually. “But I liked it better up here.”

From anyone else, I would have called bullshit on that, but Rupert did look quite content. He was sitting on the couch in his socks with his shirtsleeves rolled up and his black hair down and loose around his shoulders. It was the most casual I’d ever seen him other than the night I’d shown up at his bunk. Unfortunately, that memory combined with our present intimate arrangement sent my mind running to all kinds of places it wasn’t supposed to go, and I had to look away to force it back on track. “How long was I asleep?”

“Almost eighteen hours.”

My mouth fell open. “
Eighteen hours?
”

“More or less,” he said, putting down his mug. “I was going to wake you earlier, but you looked so peaceful.”

I swore and sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress.

“Where are you going?” he asked as I stood up with a wobble.

“Bathroom,” I replied, stumbling toward the hall.

Thankfully, the stiffness in my limbs was temporary. By the time I made it to the bathroom, I was walking more or less normally. I felt a lot better, too, which I damn well should have, considering how long I’d passed out. I finished my business and splashed some water on my face until I felt more or less myself, and then looked around for my clothes.

I found them stacked on top of the autowash, cleaned and neatly folded. Rupert’s pants and shirt, also freshly washed, had been hung on the wall hook with military precision, which almost made me laugh. Not that I didn’t appreciate Rupert’s need for order, but who ever heard of a supersoldier neat freak?

I grabbed my clothes and changed quickly, pulling on the thin, drab underarmor pants and tank top the embassy had given me. It wasn’t much, but getting back into combat wear made me feel more like myself. To be polite, I put the shirt Rupert had given me in the autowash, starting the cycle even though I was only washing one thing. Once it was going, I headed out to find Rupert, because now that we were alone and I wasn’t passing out on my feet, it was time to talk about what we did from here.

He wasn’t in the bedroom when I got back. His couch was cleared off, too, so I headed downstairs. The living room was also empty, and I was starting to get a little worried when Rupert stuck his head out of the kitchen. “You’re dressed.”

He sounded so disappointed I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, well, no offense to your shirt, but I prefer clothes that fit.”

“I thought it fit you very well,” Rupert said, his voice low and warm in a way that went straight through me. “Are you hungry?”

The moment he mentioned food, my stomach rumbled. He smiled at the sound and waved for me to follow him. I did, walking through the narrow door into the small kitchen to find Rupert stirring a pot of something that smelled like a cross between chicken soup and heaven.

“What’s that?” I asked, sitting down at the little table under a window that looked out into the forest of dense soypen stems behind the house.

“Something to make you feel better,” he said, ladling liquid from the pot into a heavy bowl, which he then placed in front of me. The soup looked as good as it smelled, a clear golden broth filled with white meat, bright green vegetables, and fat little dumplings resting at the bottom.

Mouth watering, I grabbed the spoon he held out for me and dug in. Unsurprisingly, considering who had cooked it, it tasted amazing. I made sure to tell him so, but Rupert just waved his hand.

“Salt and protein are good for helping plasmex users recover when they push too far,” he explained, sitting down across the table from me. “We give it to the daughters when they overexert themselves. You’re not a plasmex user, of course, but considering the events leading up to your collapse, I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

I paused, spoon halfway to my mouth. I hadn’t even considered that my weird exhaustion might have been related to the black stuff. I was, however, slightly horrified by the thought of Rupert feeding me the same thing he gave the girls he shot. “You made this for the daughters?”

“No,” Rupert said. “I gave them broth. You’re the only person I make dumplings for.”

I couldn’t decide if that was sweet or depressing. “What did I miss?” I asked as I resumed eating.

“Not much,” Rupert said, leaning back in his chair. “The pickup I put in for hasn’t replied yet, and I don’t have any word from Caldswell, though that’s to be expected.”

Right, since he was probably lost in hyperspace forever. “Gotta say, I’m surprised we’re not up to our necks in Eyes yet. I thought you guys had instant everything.”

“We do,” Rupert said. “But I didn’t request a retrieval from the Eyes.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

Rupert’s face turned suddenly serious. “Not all Eyes are as flexible as Caldswell,” he explained. “If I followed protocol and alerted command without him present to ensure the deal you made was upheld, you’d be in a lab by tomorrow.”

That thought soured my stomach. I’d gotten so used to being hauled around like a glorified test tube I’d forgotten I’d actually been dealing with the moderate Eyes who were willing to work with me. “But if we can’t go to the Eyes, who’s left? What do we do?”

“For now, we lie low,” Rupert said. “Considering the events on the tribe ship, headquarters most likely believes we’re dead. Until Caldswell reemerges, it’s better to let them keep thinking that. Once the captain comes back, we can return to the original plan of finding a safe way to extract and use your virus.”

I looked down at my soup, poking the soft dumplings at the bottom with the tip of my spoon. I hadn’t actually told Rupert the whole truth about the virus yet. He’d seen me use it to call the lelgis on the tribe ship, but he didn’t know that they found me every time I touched a phantom whether I wanted them to or not, which was kind of a deal breaker since their entire race wanted me dead. He also didn’t know that the virus flared up whenever I got mad, which I probably should clue him in on since controlling my temper wasn’t exactly one of my strengths. But when I opened my mouth to bring him up to speed, I ended up taking a bite of soup instead.

Coward
, I thought as I swallowed. Whatever emotional problems I was having with Rupert, he still deserved to know the danger I was putting him in, but I couldn’t get the words out. Not because I was worried he’d use the knowledge against me or anything so suitably cynical. The truth was far more petty. I didn’t want to tell Rupert about the virus because I didn’t want him knowing just how messed up I was.

“Devi?”

I looked up to see Rupert watching me, his eyes soft and warm. “I meant what I said before,” he said quietly, reaching out to put his hand over mine. “I’m on your side now. Whatever you want to do, I’ll be with you, and I won’t let the Eyes do anything to you against your will. I swear it.”

His concern was making me feel even worse, and I quickly changed the subject. “So,” I said, taking another bite of soup. “If you didn’t call the Eyes, then who are we getting a pickup from?”

I don’t think I fooled him. Rupert was always annoyingly perceptive, but he accepted my deflection with a shrug and played along. “I used my general security clearance to request an evac from the Terran Republic Starfleet.”

“Won’t that alert the Eyes?”

Rupert flashed me a confident smile. “No. I called it in using my Republic Starfleet A-Level Anonymous Agent Special Clearance.”

I stared at him blankly. “Your what?”

“It’s the Terran equivalent of a Royal Warrant,” he explained. “It’s meant to let field agents get whatever they want anywhere in Terran space without having to risk their cover. Even if the Republic investigates, I’ll just show up as one of the hundreds of classified agents they have in the field at any given time. And with so many government agencies keeping secrets from each other, it’s nearly impossible to figure out who belongs to whom.”

“You mean you’re hiding from the Eyes in the Terran’s own bureaucracy?”

Rupert nodded. “More or less.”

I’d always known Rupert was sly, but using the Terran’s own convoluted government structure as cover while still getting all the perks of rank was pretty damn beautiful. “So once Terran Starfleet gets their act together and comes to pick us up, where do we go? Do we just stay on the run and wait for Caldswell or what?”

“The more we move, the more likely it is the Eyes will find out we’re not dead,” Rupert said. “There’s also no way of knowing when or if Caldswell will come back, or how long your virus will remain stable, so I thought we could try another option.”

I almost choked on my soup. “There’s another option?”

Rupert nodded. “I know of a doctor. He’s a plasmex specialist. He worked with Maat in the early days, but he cut ties with us several years ago.”

“Like Brenton?”

“No, he was never an Eye,” Rupert said. “And he doesn’t attack the daughter teams. Quite the opposite—he stays as detached from us as possible. It’s a bit of a long shot. I don’t know if he’ll even agree to see you, but he’s probably the only human in the universe outside of Dark Star Station who might know what to do with your virus.”

I wasn’t a big fan of doctors, but I was open to anything at this point that didn’t end with me being dragged into a lab with a bag over my head. “Sounds worth a try,” I said. “So we’re just waiting for the evac, then?”

“That or the freighter,” Rupert said with a sigh. “Not much else we can do under present circumstances.”

I glanced around at the comfortable little kitchen. “I guess there are worse places to be stranded.”

“I’d be hard pressed to think of a better one,” he replied, smiling wide.

I swallowed. He was doing it again, looking at me like I was the only thing in the universe. Back before everything had gone wrong, I’d reveled in that look. Now I couldn’t even meet his eyes.

Fortunately, the soup made an excellent distraction. The dumplings were especially good, little folded dough balls that somehow managed to be both chewy and soft. But there was something about the flavor that bothered me. I was too distracted and hungry to put my finger on it during the first bowl, but by the time I’d worked my way to the bottom of the second, I’d slowed down enough to recognize the strange, wistful feeling tugging on my mind as nostalgia.