Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1) (5 page)

“That’s just it, all he’s done.” Her new friend raised her slender fingers one by one. “He interfered at the gate.”

“He would have done that for any woman,” Mira argued, and was a little disappointed when Ahnyis agreed.

“You’re right, he would have, but he wouldn’t have carried her to the clinic. He would have called for someone to come get her. Even as you slept, he stayed with you as long as he could and then told me not to leave you alone with Mason.” She giggled. “Godans are very possessive of their women.”

“You already said that, Ahnyis, a number of times. Roark was just being...”

“Ah,” the healer said sharply and held up her hand, “Stop making excuses and let me finish. I know a bit more than you do about this. He created a position for you, two in fact.”

“Wait! Are you telling me that everyone thinks I only got the job because I’m his, his...?”

Ahnyis nodded. “Yes, because it’s true, but don’t look so glum. They’re happy about it. You’re keeping Mohawk out of everyone’s hair and he actually says nice things about you. The officers thought they were going to have to sit through stupid, boring lectures and instead they’re enjoying the classes. Vochem says he’s heard over and over that if they’d had teachers like you, they might have done better in school. You’re fun and interesting and,” she giggled again, “easy to look at. They’re very eager to get out into the city and see if they can find more females like you.”

Mira wasn’t sure what to think about all this. She didn’t like the idea of being paid for an artificial job that meant nothing more than a paycheck for the boss’s supposed girlfriend.

She frowned and took another bite of her sandwich, taking note of the real meat filling between the slices of fresh bread. On the other hand, that artificially induced paycheck was already improving their lives. They finally had enough to eat and Wynne mentioned looking for a place to rent where they’d have running water.

It would certainly make things easier for her sister, and Wynne deserved that. The war years had stolen a lot from Wynne. She never complained, but the loss of her opportunity to attend college and have an adult social life had to hurt. David might benefit, too, if he didn’t feel like they were living like rodents, and in a new neighborhood, he might find new friends.

Ahnyis had stopped nibbling at her crackers and cheese. She reached over and prevented Mira from taking her last bite of sandwich.

“He’s a good male, a good man,” she corrected and smiled. “He and my brother were at school together. I’ve known him since I was a little thing. He was my first boyfriend, you know.” She blushed a little, but her smile was sweetly melancholy. “Not really, but for one night I got to pretend. Our family wasn’t wealthy, you see, but my parents worked hard and bought Vochem and me the very best education. There wasn’t much left over, so at school, even though our tuition was paid, we were still looked at as charity cases. There was a girl in my class, Sellephia. She was rich and she was beautiful and she was mean. During our final year, she sent me an invitation to her annual ball and addressed it to The Ash Maiden. That’s a character in a story about a poor girl who can’t go to the royal ball.”

“But she goes and she wins the heart of a prince,” Mira concluded, happy to have found yet again, another commonality between their cultures. She smiled at the healer’s surprise. “We have that story, too. We also have Sellephias.”

Ahnyis nodded. “Then you’ll understand. It was a cruel joke, and when Roark found me, I was curled in a ball with the invitation in my hand, sobbing my heart out. He said he’d take care of it and the next thing I knew, I was being summoned to his mother’s house where she and her dressmaker were redesigning one of her gowns for me. Roark took me to that ball as my escort. I was a mere girl and he was a grown man, already a warrior of note.

He waited on me, fed me cakes from his fingers, brought me punch from the crystal bowl. We danced all night and his eyes never strayed from my face. I was the envy of every girl there and for that one night, he made me a princess. I was in love.”

“And?” Mira asked, not sure if she wanted to know.

Ahnyis laughed. “He took me home and I puckered up for a goodnight kiss.” She sighed like the teenaged girl she’d been. “It didn’t happen. He kissed me on the forehead and said, ‘Thank you, Buttons. I had a wonderful time.’

“I was heartbroken for about a week. And then he went off to war and I followed my brother in the Healing Arts and we followed Roark into the military as Healers. Except for a few years when he was gone on a mission, he’s used his connections to see that Vochem is always posted with him. Where Vochem goes, so do I.”

“I’m telling you this because I want you to know what kind of man he is. He has no wife. He’s had his share of women, but he’s never claimed one as his or offered his favors.”

Mira started to laugh. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you? I haven’t even had a kiss on the forehead. I haven’t seen him since the day he brought me to your clinic.”

“I don’t think you can blame him for that. You...”

A green light began flashing over the door to the clinic, followed by a steadily paced alarm coming from outside that sounded remarkably like a telephone busy signal. Anyis tapped the small comlink on her shoulder that all base personnel wore.

“Healer Ahnyis here.” She cocked her head, listening for a moment. “I’m on my way.” She stowed away the remains of her lunch and began gathering what she would need. “Sorry to rush off. Transport coming in. Wounded.”

Mira popped the last of her sandwich into her mouth. “No problem. I have class in twenty minutes anyway. I didn’t think you worked at the hospital.”

The clinic was a place for the treatment of any of the everyday illnesses the military personnel might suffer from. Though other healers spent a few hours there each week, Ahnyis was in charge and worked there fulltime. Anything that needed treatment beyond an office visit was referred to the hospital which stood in the far corner of the base.

“You won’t be having classes this afternoon. Using a transport means a heavy number of casualties. All hands are needed. The officers will be busy.”

“Can I help?”

“Yes. It’s probably going to be a mess. We don’t have nearly enough medical personnel. Vochem is furious about it.”

Mira left her things behind and followed Ahnyis.

Chapter 5

The landing pad was located at the back of the base and people were running toward it from all directions. A red cautionary circle was painted around the pad and everyone crowded behind it like runners before the race. The monstrous beast hovered for a moment and then settled into place. Its opening door was the firing of the starter’s pistol. Personnel swarmed the ship and began off-loading the stretcher bound injured.

“Follow me.” Ahnyis handed Mira a clipboard and a small box of color coded tags. “Tag them, make notes, tuck the note under the tag.”

What looked like chaos was actually an organized system of triage. Each patient was assessed and tagged according to the severity of the injury. As the last stretcher was unloaded, Roark appeared in the transport’s doorway carrying a badly injured man in his arms. On the limp hanging arm of the victim, a black band with red markings was clearly visible. It signified the soldier he carried was a Medic.

Being the closest available healer, Ahnyis moved to him while calling for a stretcher.

“He caught it while we were loading the injured,” was Roark’s terse explanation.

Seeing the massive and blood drenched wound to the young medic’s side, and noting his barely moving chest, Mira thought he would be tagged with a black card to denote a hopeless condition, but she was wrong. Ahnyis called him a green and told the soldiers loading him onto a stretcher to move him to the front of the line.

The walking wounded were already beginning to fill the area. Covered in the medics’ blood, Roark walked among them talking, touching, nodding his encouragement, and sharing his pride and strength with them. Watching him and the way the men responded to him, Mira felt her own chest swell with pride and respect. He stayed with them until the last man was seen to. Then he came to Mira.

“Walk with me.”

He said nothing more as they walked together through the base, so Mira opened the conversation.

“Ahnyis says you don’t have enough personnel to cover what’s needed in the hospital. You could hire civilians to do most of it.”

“I’ll look into that as soon as I can find the funding. I have to figure out where the money is going in this place first. The books are a mess. Everything about this place is a mess.”

“I could work at the hospital,” she offered. “In the clerical area, I mean.”

Roark kept walking, but looked down at her. “You don’t like the employments you’ve been given?”

“I like them well enough, but I’d rather be doing useful work than doing jobs someone made up just to be kind.”

He glanced down at her again, but did not return her smile. “Your duties are not a kindness. They are necessary.”

“Not as necessary as the hospital.”

“That is my decision to make, not yours. I do not wish you to be subjected to the sight of the casualties of war.”

Mira sputtered an indignant laugh. “Where do you think I’ve been living for the past six years? In the beginning, the bombing was almost constant, every night a new barrage. I think they took out the cities right after they hit the military installations. I’ve seen blood and bone before.” She wouldn’t mention that some of that blood had been her parents. It would sound too much like she was seeking his pity.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with such things.” He sounded as if he meant it.

“No one should have to deal with such things. I won’t lie to you, First Commander. I’m grateful. I need the work. I have a family to support, but I’d rather be doing something useful.”

They’d reached the clinic and he held the door for her. “What you’re doing is useful and if we are to make any kind of peace with the people here, it must be done. Perhaps the jobs were created sooner than they might have been, but they would have been created nonetheless. You are best qualified to fill them.”

He passed the room where Mira and Ahnyis had eaten lunch and entered the treatment room where he began to unbuckle the armor that covered his chest and arms. He looked like he was going to toss it aside, so Mira held out her hand for it and he passed it to her. It was surprisingly lightweight. Inspecting it out of curiosity, she found a split in the side of it about six inches long. She leaned around Roark’s body where he had twisted to the side. Blood soaked his shirt where the armor should have covered.

“My God, you’re hurt.” She immediately began searching for something with which to clean the wound.

Roark peeled his shirt up over his head. “It’s nothing serious. An annoyance. It’s the armor that cut, not the weapon.” He moved to take the cleaning pad from her, but she held it away.

“Easy for you to say when you can’t see it,” she huffed in exasperation. “You should have had one of the healers looking at it. Get up on the table and raise your arm so I can see it.”

“You command it. So it will be,” he laughed and did as he was told. “Are you always this demanding?”

“Only in cases of gross stupidity.” She winced with each dab of the astringent pad. He did not. “This is more than an annoyance. It needs to be stitched.”

“How badly is the design damaged?” he asked of the tattoos along his side. “I have a few other places that need to be repaired. I can have them all done together.”

“The design has the big hole in it, too,” she snapped, “but I’m a little more concerned about the wound.”

The tattoos covered his sides and a good portion of his back One coiled up his neck and along his cheek. The ritualistic pattern made her curious.

“Do they have meaning?” she asked.

“Only as to what they cover,” he chuckled. “Run your hand over them,” he told her and when she hesitated he chuckled again. “Go ahead. They don’t bite and neither do I.” He winked. “Much.”

She wasn’t afraid of the tattoos. She was afraid of touching him, because she wanted to, badly. But she didn’t want him to know that, so she laughed to give herself courage. “Smartass.”

Her laughter died when she felt what was beneath her trembling fingers. She forgot her fear as she followed the dark designs and the scars they covered. Some were heavy ridges, some so shallow they were barely felt, but all were carefully disguised by the dips and swirls of the intricate designs.

“Are these all from...?”

“Battles?” He nodded and watched her closely. “I became battle hardened by the time I was twenty. Harm said he couldn’t decide whether I was fierce or a fool. Do they offend you?”

“Offend?” With her finger, she traced a swirl that ran across his shoulder and ended in a slashed point over the raised square of his pectoral muscle. “Why would I be offended? I think they’re fascinating, but I don’t understand their purpose. What do you mean by battle hardened? It sounds like one of those things where the literal doesn’t convey the intent.”

He removed her hand and kissed her fingertips. She thought his mouth would be hard, toughened by sun and wind and scar like the rest of his skin, but his lips were soft as silk. The touch of them sent a shiver through her body. Mira released her breath when Roark released her hand.

“The official terms for the lowest ranks of our military are first, second, and third Station but the soldiers themselves use the terms blooded, seasoned, and battle hardened. These ranks are earned, unofficially, by the number of your scars and the breadth of your tattoos. These markings tell anyone who sees them that I came up through the rank and file.

“My father was furious when I refused a purchased commission when I joined the military. You’ll notice that most of the officers don’t share my appreciation for these markings. They see no glory in serving where my men have served and a certain type of female would find in them a sign of humble beginnings and see no future prospects in them, as if the stain of my beginnings would rub off on them.”

There was more there than the simple words. Mira was afraid of her sudden need to know everything about this man, her Viking. Instead, she fell back on her role as teacher.

“Then you’ve come to the right place, First Commander. We admire those who have risen up from the ranks. We like success stories, and I think it says a lot about your character.” Mira looked through the drawers until she found the tape and scissors. “You’re going to have to tell me how to do this, and I still think you need stitches.”

“I’ll have Vochem look at it later if it will make you feel better. Right now, he has better things to do. Cut several lengths of tape about this long.” He measured with his fingers and then explained what he needed Mira to do. When she finished, he let himself down from the table. “Come with me to my quarters so I can change...” He looked at the bloody shirt and then at her. “...into something less colorful.”

It was a long time ago, but Mira had seen that same look in men’s eyes before. She returned Roark’s with a dubious look of her own. “That sounds suspiciously like a would-you-like-to-see-my-etchings routine. Is it?”

“I might be able to answer that if I knew what etchings were.”

“They’re a type of art work, but anything will do; paintings, trophies, a baseball card collection. Puppies and kittens are always good excuses to get a girl into your apartment, too.” Mira grinned and raised her eyebrows in question.

“Ah, I see,” he grinned back, still with that look in his eyes. “And if that was my intent, what would you say?”

“No. I don’t even know who you are,” she replied, but she said it with a smile, a flirty one. Oh, God, she was flirting!

He stood at attention and clicked the heels of his heavy black boots. “Roark, First Commander of Sector Three, North American Continent, Earth; Free Son of Tadin, Master of the Honorable House of Kronak of the Godan Nation, People of Mishra, a Founding Planet of the Galactic Confederation.”

Mira laughed. “Impressive, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Hi, I’m Bob.” She lowered her voice to mimic a man’s. “I like fishing and picnics and drinking beer while I watch football on Sunday afternoons. I like watching old movies, too, as long as I can prop my feet on the coffee table and eat popcorn from a bowl. Someday I’d like a wife, a house, a new pickup truck in the driveway, and 2.5 children, but not right now. I like dogs, and cats are okay as long as they don’t curl around my neck. I like long walks after dark as long as they’re with you.’” She gave him her impression of a man’s wink.

Laughing, Roark went to the door and held it open for her in a way that made her duck under his arm. As she passed beneath, he dropped his arm over her shoulders, his fingers dancing perilously close to her breast. As they walked down the hall, he bent his head until his mouth was close to her ear.

“My name is not Bob. I like fishing. I have never been on a picnic and I do not know what football is,” he said as they walked out of the building. “I do enjoy holo recordings if they contain more action than love making since I am not a voyeur and need no instruction in the art. I have eaten your corn and I like it very much, but I have never had it popped, and I would certainly prefer to eat my food from a bowl. I know of no woman who would have me as her husband.

“I have no house on this planet but the one I am assigned. Pickup trucks are inefficient vehicles that waste valuable resources. I have little interest in children since I would rarely be in attendance to supervise their upbringing. I have seen pictures of dogs and cats and though I have never come in contact with either one, they seem harmless enough. I think I would enjoy long walks after dark as long as they’re with you.

“I say these things because you appear to have an interest in them, but the end result is the same. You will return to my quarters and wait while I change my shirt. I am Roark, First Commander of Sector Three, North American Continent, Earth; Free Son of Tadin, Master of the Honorable House of Kronak of the Godan Nation, People of Mishra, a Founding Planet of the Galactic Confederation. I command it of you. So it will be.”

“Okay,” Mira agreed, much too easily because she was laughing. She was a little stunned that he’d listened to everything she’d said, but then she recovered. “As long as it’s only for a shirt change.”