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Chapter 13: A Time for Everything

“The tarmac is over there,” Christoff said, pointing at a clearing deep within a large valley of blue-leafed trees.

Preeah turned Soar toward it and landed her perfect. She smiled, impressed with how the ship responded to her. She was also pleased her piloting skills had remained sharp.

After she shut down all the systems, she followed Christoff out of the ship. As she descended the ramp, she spied the same two men push Quinley through the door of a mansion built out of a white brick. She snapped her fingers and ran back inside. She grabbed the still-covered sketch Christoff had placed in a corner of the passenger compartment. She figured Quinley would wonder where it was when he woke up.

She caught up with Christoff and studied her surroundings. The place crawled with well-armed and alert security personnel. They wore uniforms unfamiliar to her: All blue of the same hue as the trees, gray epaulettes, but no name tags or insignia to indicate rank.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“I’ll explain everything later,” Christoff said. “We’ll get settled in first. You look exhausted.”

“Where are they taking Quinley?”

“There’s a hospital in the lower levels. It’s well-staffed and has everything Quinley needs to recover.”

“Can I—?”

“I’ve arranged to have a cot brought into his room for you.”

“Thanks, Christoff, but I do wish you’d let me finish my sentences.”

He smirked and said, “Sorry.”

By the time they arrived at Quinley’s room, he was resting on a hospital bed, and Doctor Bertran was making notations in her computer.

Preeah placed his sketch on a small table standing in the corner of the room and leaned it against the wall.

She sat on the cot placed against the wall by the door and at the opposite end of the bed. She sighed and let fatigue overtake her.

“How’s he doing?” Christoff asked.

“He’s getting better,” Doctor Bertran said. “I think I will allow him to awaken sometime tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Cynthia.” Christoff turned to Preeah and said, “You should get some sleep yourself.”

She nodded as he left. She watched the doctor in silence, pleased to feel her cautious confidence.

Doctor Bertran left a few minutes later.

Turning the lights low, Preeah lay down. She fell asleep moments later.

A small knock awoke her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

A man she could only describe as ancient stepped in. His hair was pure white and he leaned heavily on a thick, wooden cane. His face was a mass of deep wrinkles, yet his blue eyes were clear and sparkled with a childlike humor. He shuffled over to Quinley and checked his vitals.

He turned to her with a smile, and in a clear, baritone voice he said, “Hello. You must be Preeah.”

She stood with a wince as she remembered too late not to put all her weight on her bad knee. “Yes. And you are?”

He held out a gnarled hand and said, “Doctor Larn Wintel.”

She took his hand which squeezed hers in a strong grip.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said.

His eyes twinkled. “And you, my dear.”

She couldn’t help but grin at him. She found his mind as clear as his eyes, and she detected sincerity behind his words. She retreated from his thoughts, not needing to dig further. He seemed to be one of those people whose every thought showed all over his face whether he wanted it to or not.

His eyes widened when he saw Quinley’s still-covered sketch. He trundled over to it and asked, “And what has Quinley drawn this time?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression eager.

Preeah chuckled. He looked like a child unable to contain his excitement about opening a present.

“Can I take a look?” he asked.

Preeah shook her head and said, “No, actually. He promised I could see it first, when it was finished.”

“Is it not finished?”

She dropped her gaze to Quinley’s peaceful face. She fingered the soft, red blanket draped over him and said, “I think so. He asked me to look, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Because I’m afraid. She said nothing and instead shrugged her shoulders. She would sound silly if she admitted her fear. Why be afraid of a drawing anyway?

“Come here.”

His tone changed so drastically, she jerked her head up and stared at him. He held a hand out to her, his expression demanding she did not deny him.

She didn’t, but only after hesitating a few seconds. When she stood in front of the drawing, he stepped behind and to her left.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. “I have a feeling he was thinking of you when he drew it. And I bet it’s one of his best.”

“You’ve seen his work?” She was genuinely curious, but she also wanted to delay seeing it.

“Yes. He’s an excellent artist. I’ve even commissioned a few things from him in the past.”

“Like what?”

“What are you waiting for? It won’t hurt you.”

She said nothing, frozen.

He reached over with a sigh and said, “Fine. If you won’t—”

She grabbed his wrist and said, “No. I’ll do it.” She took a deep breath and let him go. Before she could change her mind, she threw the cover aside.

What she saw made both her knees weak.

“I was right,” Doctor Wintel whispered. “It is one of his best – if not the best he’s ever done.”

Not having any background or interest in art, to Preeah it looked like he drew it with some kind of pencil or chalk on a thick, textured paper.

Avoiding mirrors for the most part, she nonetheless knew he missed nothing as to her scars, her hair, even her burnt-away ear and misshapen lips. He drew her to mid-torso and included her stump instead of her prosthetic arm. And yet he managed to make her look – beautiful. He drew her with an expression of determination, her gaze affixed on something far off. She leaned closer and saw something in the eyes.

Hope.

She closed her eyes and turned away, unsure whether to be pleased or furious.

“Do you not like it?” Doctor Wintel asked.

“It’s, it’s not me.”

“I’d say he captured you very well.” He sounded confused.

She shook her head and glared at Quinley.

“It’s not me. I’m uglier than that.”

“Not according to Quinley.”

“That’s his opinion. If anything, I’d say he’s blind.”

“One of Quinley’s talents, I noticed, is that he sees more clearly than most. He sees through God’s eyes, not his own.”

She rolled her eyes and sat in the chair next to Quinley’s bed. Not you, too, she thought. Good night, I’m surrounded by fanatics.

Doctor Wintel sat in the chair next to hers with a small grunt. He leaned his chin on his cane and said, “You don’t believe me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

“That’s fine,” he said. “There’s a time for everything. Even doubt.”

Something clicked and a memory surfaced.

Back at the manor on Grentinera, she had taken Quinley’s advice and read “Ecclesiastes.” It talked about how there’s a time for everything, but also how everything was meaningless.

She agreed with the writer. Everything was meaningless. Her whole life, everything she had ever done, what good did it do? What purpose did her life serve other than to cause and experience pain and death? No matter what she did in the past or in the future, she would die like everyone else, leaving nothing of value behind. And why even bother? Why try to make life better for herself and others if it all went to waste at the end?

She remembered the writer’s other words as well. The point was not the meaninglessness of life, but that life was meaningless without God.

She then considered how Christoff, Doctor Wintel and especially Quinley were different from anyone else she ever knew. All three had something she lacked. Christoff had an unshakable sense of purpose, Quinley loved without reservation, and Doctor Wintel exuded unadulterated joy and wonder.

The one thing they held in common was faith in God.

Could God – would God do the same with her?

All you have to do is ask, my child.

She knew that voice. Instead of ignoring it or pushing it aside, she opened herself up to it.

Something cracked within her. Out of that crack spilled out an insatiable desire to know what Quinley, Doctor Wintel and Christoff knew, to be what they were. Behind that, she envisioned Quinley’s portrait of her. Perhaps – someday – she could be that person.

But where to begin?

She felt Quinley stir. She stood and took his hand in hers. He squeezed back and opened his eyes. He glanced around in confusion, but when his eyes met hers, he grinned.

Her eyes filled with tears and she smiled back. How she loved his smile. Nothing could ever go wrong as long as he continued to smile.

“Hi,” he whispered.

She swallowed and croaked, “Hi back.”

He looked at Doctor Wintel and said, “Hello, Doctor.”

Doctor Wintel stood and said, “I’m glad to see you’re awake.” He looked at Preeah and back at Quinley and said, “But we can talk later. I’ll leave you two alone to talk.”

Both acknowledged him with a nod. When the door closed behind him, Preeah sat back down.

She knew what she wanted to ask, but couldn’t decide how best to voice it.

“Is everything all right, Preeah?”

“Quinley,” she began as she studied his hand, so much smaller than her own.

“Tell me – tell me about Jesus.”

THE END

Chapter 12: Opportunities

Preeah didn’t detect anyone entering the room until a strong, warm hand touched her shoulder. She started and turned to see Christoff standing next to her. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles and his hair was all askew. Whatever he did to the soldiers, it took a lot out of him. Three other people ran in and checked Quinley’s vitals.

“Come, Preeah,” Christoff said. “They need room to work.”

She stood, but before she followed Christoff, she leaned down and kissed Quinley’s cold, clammy forehead.

“Stay with us, Quinley,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

After stepping out into the hallway, she could go no further. She leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. She extended her injured leg out with a wince.

“Preeah?” Christoff asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, unable to look at him. “I just . . .” she dropped her forehead down on her other knee and tried not to cry.

Christoff sat next to her and placed his hand over hers.

“Will you pray with me?” he asked.

Prayer? She thought. What good would that do?

“God listens to all our prayers, Preeah.”

Not to mine. “Pray if you think it will help,” she said aloud. “I can’t.” Even if God does exist, he won’t listen to me.

Whether or not Christoff heard her thoughts, he gave no indication. She did sense him praying not just for Quinley, but for her as well. She knew well enough he could have hidden his thoughts from her, so he definitely wanted her to sense him. Although she didn’t believe his prayer would work, she appreciated the gesture.

Preeah awoke to whispers. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, confused as to where she was. She glanced around and discovered she lay on Quinley’s couch. The gray light outside the window indicated the sun set mere minutes before. She then recalled Christoff urging her here, and asking a nurse patch up her knee and the torn skin on her stump.

She stood and tested her knee. It was sore, stiff and swollen, but overall felt better. Her stump stung a little, but not enough to be uncomfortable.

She followed the whispers into the bedroom. Christoff and a short, stout woman with cropped brown hair, and small blue eyes surrounded by a pudgy face – Doctor Cynthia Bertran if Preeah remembered correctly – stood by Quinley’s bed.

“What’s going on?” Preeah asked.

Both turned and Christoff answered, “We’ve just finished making arrangements to leave.”

Preeah limped to Quinley’s side and caressed his cheek. He was still terribly pale, but his breathing seemed more at ease and his skin felt warm.

“Is it wise to move him?” she asked.

“We have a shuttle all prepared for him,” Doctor Bertran said. “And don’t worry, he’s sedated so he’s not feeling any pain.”

“But painkillers—”

“Don’t worry. They’re non-narcotic.”

“Would you be willing to pilot?” Christoff asked. “We’re a bit short-handed.”

“I’ll do whatever you ask,” she said, keeping her eyes on Quinley. “Just let me stay with him.”

“Sure.”

Two men entered with an anti-grav gurney.

“If you need to pack any of your things,” Christoff said, “I suggest you do it now. We’re leaving as soon as we get Quinley aboard.” He turned and left without waiting for an answer.

Owning nothing, Preeah instead decided to pack Quinley’s things. It amounted to mostly artistic equipment and books. Packing was easy since he kept everything organized in small boxes. She placed it all inside a large bag she found stuffed inside his closet. There was a little room left for a few articles of clothing. She kept an eye on the men, but they were efficient and gentle. Doctor Bertran gave an occasional order, but otherwise remained focused on monitoring Quinley’s vitals from a small computer.

“Will he make it?” Preeah asked.

Without looking up Doctor Bertran said, “He’s critical. The damage to his internal organs is extensive, and he lost a lot of blood. But he’s strong. I give him a fifty-fifty chance.”

Not the resounding optimism Preeah hoped for, but she thanked the doctor anyway.

As one of the men proceeded to push the gurney, she asked the other one to carry Quinley’s bag. Her knee could barely handle her weight. He smiled and took the bag without a word. Doctor Bertran followed briskly behind.

Preeah remembered Quinley’s sketch, so she returned and grabbed it, making sure it stayed covered to prevent any damage. When the reached the spot where she killed Tara, she was surprised to see not a speck of evidence. She squinted her eyes shut for a second and tried to ride her mind’s eye of the image of Tara’s headless body. Preeah needed to concentrate on more important things than to wallow in guilt and regret.

She took a deep breath and caught up to Doctor Bertran.

The manor felt deserted until they reached a large hangar tucked inside a hill at the back end of the property. Two small shuttles took off as they entered a side door, and people scrambled to three more powering up. The last ship made Preeah stop short. It wasn’t a mere shuttle, but a dark blue, space-faring vessel. She was long, sleek, and well armed with guns protruding from the bottom of each wing and fuselage. She smiled when she realized she would be piloting that one.

Christoff stepped down from the ship and grinned at her.

“Go ahead and take a look,” he said. “I’ve gone through the pre-flight, but you may want to double-check yourself.”

Preeah hesitated, torn between remaining at Quinley’s side, and satiate her desire to discover everything about this ship named Soar.

“Quinley’s in good hands,” Christoff said as he took the sketch. “We can’t leave until you’re ready, but don’t dally. We don’t have much time to spare.” He must have noticed the way she stared at the sketch because he added, “And I’ll take good care of this.”

She nodded and went through all the pre-flights as everyone else boarded.

Less than a half an hour later, Preeah flew Soar into the clouds. When she punched through the atmosphere, she felt Christoff enter the cockpit.

Without turning she asked, “Where to?”

He sat in the copilot’s seat and said, “Pointwain.” He punched in the coordinates into the nav computer.

Preeah engaged the subspace engines and leaned back to watch the black sky morph into the liquid blue-white tunnel of light.

After a few seconds of silence Christoff said, “If you need a break—”

“Thanks, but I’d like to stay here a while.”

“You miss flying.”

She smiled, wistful. “I’m free when I fly.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

They gazed out the viewscreen in silence for several minutes.

“Would you be willing to fly for us from now on?” he asked.

She thought about it and said, “That depends. Do I have to believe in this God of yours?”

He chuckled and said, “Not at all. This is a job offer, nothing more.”

“I see.”

“I do have certain expectations, though.”

Here it comes, she thought. She didn’t care if Christoff heard it or not.

“One, you will tell no one who you work for. Everywhere you go, whoever or whatever you transport is to be shared with no one.”

“That goes without saying. What else?”

His expression hardened and he said, “You will from now on obey my orders without question, and without hesitation.”

She stared at him, confused and insulted. “That’s not a problem, either.”

“But it is. You came back to the manor to help us, and for that I thank you. However, because you insisted on doing things your way, five people died who didn’t have to. Quinley nearly lost his life as a consequence as well.”

“But Quinley—”

“Knew what he was doing. I only needed him to distract the other telepath long enough so I could free the rest of us. Once that was done, I could have easily rendered her and the two soldiers useless – without taking their lives. As for the first two you killed, you could have easily bypassed them without being detected. You’re not an assassin anymore, Preeah. We need your piloting skills, not your ability to commit murder.”

She tore her gaze away, her face heating up in fury. She noticed then her hand hurt from gripping the arm of the chair. Releasing her grip she said, “But that’s what I am.”

“It’s what you were trained to do, but it doesn’t have to define you. You don’t belong to the Commonwealth anymore. You’re free to be something else. Something better.”

She hated the way Christoff reached so deep within her, twisted her notions about life and herself, and forced her to look at them differently.

And yet, ever since she met Quinley she wanted to be something other than a killing machine, something other than a desperate drug addict willing to hurt people in order to survive.

“I don’t know how,” she whispered.

She felt him smile. “You’re a talented pilot, and it’s what you love to do above all else. Start there.”

She closed her eyes and remembered the first time she assumed the control of an aircraft. It was a small, cumbersome shuttle not even capable of interplanetary travel, but she had never experienced anything more exhilarating. Even now as she fingered Soar’s controls, felt the soft vibration of the engines all throughout her body, and the cool, metallic-tinged air wafting out of the vents above her, she felt at peace.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Christoff said.

She nodded and he stood to leave. She turned to him and asked, “I will get paid, right?”

He smiled and said, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“I’m not cheap.”

“I always buy quality, and I’m more than willing to pay whatever it’s worth.”

“That’s good to know,” she said as she turned back around. Checking the autopilot she added, “We should arrive at Pointwain tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Preeah,” Christoff said before he left.

Although she wanted to check on Quinley, she remained in her seat. He was close enough she could feel him – unconscious, but wonderfully alive.

Chapter 11: Heartbeats

Tara loomed over Quinley and Christoff and said, “Stand up.”

To Preeah’s surprise, Quinley stood instead of Christoff. Tara studied Quinley, her expression perplexed.

“Come with me,” she said.

Looking neither scared nor confident, Quinley followed. Two soldiers fell in behind him, their weapons at the ready.

Preeah watched them leave, unsure of what to do. Her mind filled with too many questions. Why did Tara pick Quinley over Christoff? Tara should have sensed him before anyone. And why, out of all the telepaths the Center could have sent, did they send Tara?

Chastising herself for wasting precious time, Preeah pushed aside her questions and scanned the room with her eyes as she tried to determine the best course of action.

Do nothing, Preeah.

Startled she focused on Christoff. He stared right at her. Taking the chance Tara was far enough away and otherwise occupied, she asked him why.

We have things well in hand, he thought to her.

What about Quinley? she asked.

He knows what he’s doing.

I can’t allow him to sacrifice—

No more killing. There are other ways—

She shut the door at the same time she shut him out. She could never stand by and do nothing while Quinley was being hurt or killed.

As she crept down the hallway she considered what she must do. She had to kill the two soldiers, but what about Tara? Seeing her brought back so many memories and emotions . . .

Harsh voices emanating from a room halfway down the hallway scattered her musings. She kept her telepathic distance and closed her eyes to listen. She heard a slap followed by a pained grunt. She gritted her teeth and unholstered her sidearm.

Preeah sidled up to the door, stopped and took a deep, calming breath.

With her heartbeat slowed and her anger under control, she moved.

Before the door opened all the way, Preeah fired two quick shots at the nearest soldier. He fell, never aware of his chest exploding. At the same time the second shot hit its target, the other soldier fired back. His shot went wide and hit the wall behind her, not five centimeters from her left ear.

She returned fire and shot him in the forehead. He fired at the same time, and it hit her prosthetic. The arm flew back, and forced her to twist to the side. She yelled as it writhed out of control, wrenched her shoulder and tore into the skin of her stump. She dropped her pistol, pulled off the prosthetic and threw it to the floor. It twitched a few seconds more then lay still.

Preeah turned her attention to Tara and found her kneeling behind Quinley with a dagger pressed to his throat.

Quinley stared at Preeah, his expression pained. He was bound to a chair by his hands and feet. His upper lip was swollen and bleeding, his left eye was red, and his right cheek was beginning to turn purple. Preeah searched his mind, but he didn’t respond to her touch. Tara must have injected him with Teledorm, a drug that temporarily suppressed telepathic abilities. She cringed, but wasn’t surprised.

“Well, well, Preeah,” Tara said. “I know now why you didn’t return. You look terrible.”

Preeah managed to keep the sting of the insult buried as she picked up her pistol.

Keeping the muzzle pointed to the floor as a sign she wouldn’t fire unless provoked, Preeah said, “Release him, Tara.”

“You know I can’t. He’s a telepath, too, gone rogue as well I suspect. Both of you will either die here or come back to the Center with me.” Tara’s expression softened. “At least there you have a chance—”

“You and I both know I’m rigor mortis if I go back.”

“But not your friend here.” Tara pushed the tip of the blade into Quinley’s neck. He winced as she drew blood. “Besides, this building is surrounded by Security. You will never escape.”

“Incorrect, Tara,” Quinley said, his voice scratchy but firm. “The rest of your soldiers are being dispatched as we speak.”

“That’s impossible. They are the best trained—”

“But they’ve never come up against the most powerful telepath ever created at the Center. Even the three of us combined couldn’t take him on.”

Tara’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? I sensed no other telepath.”

Preeah grinned and followed Quinley’s bluff. “He wanted you to think that. By now he’s taken care of every soldier in that room.”

She felt Tara glaze over Quinley’s mind and he said, “It’s true. We made sure you sensed me so you’d take me out of the cafeteria. With you gone, you couldn’t interfere or give warning. He’s put them all to sleep and wiped their memories. When they wake up, they will think they found an empty mansion and nothing else.”

The knife moved away from Quinley’s neck a hair, and Preeah increased her grip on the pistol. She didn’t like the cornered glint in Tara’s eyes.

Tara pressed the small link on her collar and said, “Captain Stentin.”

No answer.

“If anyone hears me, respond.”

Again only silence.

“Please Tara,” Preeah said, surprised Quinley must have told the truth. “Surrender. No harm will come to you. I promise.”

Tara nibbled on her upper lip, something she always did when deep in thought. She then sheathed her knife behind her back. Preeah holstered her weapon, but kept her hand on the grip.

“You know I’ll be punished for this,” Tara said.

“They don’t punish you for things out of your control. They have too much invested in you to harm you needlessly.”

Tara stiffened and said, “You know they’ll only send people back here, many more than what came with me today. You won’t be able to resist them, no matter how powerful your other telepath.”

“Who’s to say we’ll be here when they do?” Quinley asked.

Tara nodded and her expression changed. “I’ve missed you.”

Preeah swallowed and whispered, “And I you.”

“I’m sorry for that comment I made earlier. You really don’t—”

Preeah laughed and said, “I do, but that’s fine.”

Tara smiled and Preeah’s mood lightened. She missed that smile.

“Um, ladies,” Quinley said. “Can one of you untie me?”

Preeah smiled and said, “Sure.”

As she untied his hands, he whispered, “Are you sure we can trust her?”

She raised her eyebrow at him. He nodded but didn’t look convinced.

He stood with a grimace and held his left side.

“Are you badly hurt?”

He shook his head and took a halting breath. “Just bruised, I think.”

Preeah glared at Tara who shrugged and said, “Like you would have done any different in my place?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“So what happens now?” Tara asked.

“We should return to the cafeteria,” Quinley said. “We’ll let Christoff decide.”

“I take it he’s your super-telepath?”

Preeah thought she detected sarcasm in Tara’s tone, but she let it go.

Quinley must have noticed it, too, because he furrowed his brow and looked again at Preeah. She pursed her lips in response.

Neither one of them answered, so Tara shrugged her shoulders and left the room. Preeah and Quinley followed.

“Why did they send you, Tara?” Preeah asked.

“They knew of our relationship,” she said without slowing. “They wanted to send someone who knew you best.”

“I’m sorry.”

She felt Tara smile. “Don’t worry about it. My feelings for you haven’t changed. As for how you look, I don’t care.”

Preeah’s eyes misted. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“Unfortunately . . .” Tara stopped.

Preeah and Quinley halted and she asked, “What?”

“My orders were specific.”

Tara whirled around, dropped to one knee and fired a small pistol. Quinley pushed Preeah out of the line of fire so hard she banged against the wall. When Preeah turned, Quinley fell on his back, his hand covering a black wound just below his heart. Tara swore and pointed her weapon at Preeah.

With no conscious thought, Preeah pulled out her pistol and fired two shots. Tara’s head exploded in a flash of blood and gore. Her body fell forward with a sickening thud.

Preeah didn’t know how long she stood with her weapon branded before her as she stared at the body of her lover. Tears blurred her vision, she shook from head to toe, and she fought the urge to vomit.

“Preeah . . .”

She focused on the small voice and Quinley’s pale, and pinched face brought her back to herself.

“Quinley,” she said. She dropped her pistol and kneeled at his side. “I’m so sorry—”

“Promise me something.”

“Only if you promise me to live,” she said as she wiped away her tears.

He smiled, but it curled into a grimace. “Take me to my room.”

Preeah could only stare at him.

He grabbed her arm with surprising strength and whispered, “Please, Preeah.”

Wishing her prosthetic still functioned, she helped him to his feet. Her knee almost gave way.

“I can’t carry you.”

He stood up straighter and said, “I think I can walk. It’s not far.”

“Let me get someone—”

“Christoff knows.”

Doing her best not to look back at the carnage she created, she half-dragged Quinley to his apartment. Her knee kept trying to dislocate again, but she grimaced against it.

She focused on the blood oozing out of Quinley’s chest. Please, Christoff. Please hurry. I can’t lose him. I’ll die if I do.

They stumbled into his room, and she helped him to his bed. She hopped into the bathroom and grabbed four white towels. She returned and pressed them against his wound. He stiffened and winced, but remained otherwise still and quiet.

“I’m going to get—”

“No,” he said as he grabbed her hand. “Stay with me.”

“But—”

“They’re on their way.”

She remained and hoped he didn’t say that to keep her close. She didn’t have the mental capacity to verify what he said by searching his mind. She sat next to him and continued to keep pressure on his chest.

“Why did you want to come back here?” she asked. “The infirmary would have been better.”

“Go get my sketch.”

She shook her head in confusion, and concern he was delusional from lack of blood to the brain. “There’s plenty of time for that later,” she said.

“I want you to see it.”

“I will. Soon. When you’re healed.”

A tear snaked down his temple. She itched to wipe it away, but she couldn’t chance releasing the pressure on his chest. His face was so pale.

“You have to know . . .” he whispered and closed his eyes.

“Save your strength, Quinley.”

“I love you, Preeah, and Jesus . . .”

He didn’t finish. His head lolled to the side and the hand clutching her arm fell to his side. She fought panic and searched for a pulse at his neck. His pulse was weak and his heart beat far too fast. She sobbed and put her hand back on top of the soaked towels.

Quinley was bleeding to death and she couldn’t stop it.

Chapter 10: Lovers and Enemies

Preeah closed her eyes and leaned her back against the dying tree. The bark dug into her back, but she didn’t care. As hard as she tried she couldn’t push Quinley’s despondent face out of her mind. She hated seeing him like that. A terrible guilt gnawed at her, because she was responsible.

And yet, she couldn’t change her mind. She was too angry, too confused. Every word she read in that book, while initially intriguing, in the end infuriated and exasperated her. She needed to escape.

A skimmer powered up, made a turn and slowly retreated toward the home. She imagined Quinley keeping an eye behind him in the hope she’d change her mind and run after him. She considered it, but instead remained frozen in place.

“Quinley, why did you have to come after me?” she asked aloud.

Once she no longer heard the skimmer, a part of her felt as if she had made a big mistake.

With effort she shook the feeling away, and remembered Captain Stentin and what he did to her in the hospital after the shuttle accident.

Determination replaced her guilt and she returned to the side of the road. She hoped once she reached the outskirts Othilin, she would have a plan to entrap the captain.

“You’re right about one thing, Christoff,” she said as a plan took shape. “I do have one talent. I know how to kill.”

Preeah walked no more than fifteen minutes when she heard skimmers coming toward her from Othilin – and fast.

She dove into a small clump of bushes at the bottom of the shallow ditch and lifted her head just above the green. Six black long skimmers flew past, almost too fast for the winding road. She could clearly see the red and white Grentinera Security seal on the first two skimmers, and the gold seal of Commonwealth Security on the other four.

They disappeared around a bend and she stood with a curse. They could only be going one place.

To startled upon seeing the skimmers, she didn’t think to scan for telepaths within them. Yet she suspected there were.

Without consciously making the decision she ran back to the home as fast as she could. As each step brought her closer to the house, she tried to run further from the horrifying images of all those people – Quinley especially – being interrogated by Security. She knew first hand how cruel they could be when they wanted something. Her shoulder throbbed with that yet to be forgotten pain when Stentin grabbed it while she lay helpless in a hospital bed.

Lungs burning and muscles screaming, Preeah increased her pace. She hoped beyond all reason she could stop the impending massacre.

By the time she reached the property’s boundary fence, she no longer felt her legs, and her lungs felt so raw, every intake of breath burned worse than the previous. Her body begged for rest, but she didn’t dare until she knew everyone was safe, and hopefully unharmed.

She crept along the two-meter tall white-washed fence until she reached the delivery entrance in the back.

Preeah peeked through the slats. She saw no one in sight, and her telepathic senses confirmed she was alone. She jumped over the fence, but when she hit the ground, her left knee popped. She fell to her side and covered her mouth to stifle her scream. She sat up and held her knee, but after a few minutes the pain didn’t go away. She took a deep breath and extended her knee until it popped back into place. This time she cried out and she squinted her eyes shut to wait for the pain and nausea to pass.

When the pain subsided to a dull throb she stood, keeping the bulk of her weight on her right leg. She leaned against the fence and tentatively added weight to her injured leg. It held, but she wouldn’t be running anytime soon. Walking would also be difficult, although doable.

She tried to ignore the searing pain, and kept her mind and senses focused ahead.

She reached the door to the storage rooms, placed her right hand on it and concentrated. Two Security guards entered a room three doors down. With little time before they reentered the hallway, she opened the door and limped to the nearest room. It was a large pantry filled with canned and boxed food items stacked from floor to ceiling. She pressed the control panel, and the door swished shut with a soft whisper. She then hid behind a pallet of flour. Keeping her mind focused on the guards, she waited.

They entered two minutes later and she smiled. Both weren’t very alert, content everyone had been found.

She concentrated her telepathic senses on the larger man, because his mind and reflexes would be slower. She forced him to raise his sidearm and press the muzzle against his companion’s temple. He fired a single shot, and his companion, with most of his head vaporized, fell to the floor. With the stunned soldier’s back to her, crept up to him. She wrapped her mechanical hand around his neck, and squeezed and twisted at the same time. She felt a satisfying crunch and she let him fall on top of the other body. He twitched for a few seconds and lay still.

She loosened the larger soldier’s belt that held a holster for his sidearm, a large dagger with a black, obsidian handle - standard Commonwealth Security issue - and extra ammunition. She strapped it around her waist She checked the pistol’s magazine, made sure it was ready to fire, and holstered it. She searched both bodies and found a small link attached to the collar of each. She took one and snapped it to her collar so she could listen in.

“It appears everyone is accounted for,” Captain Stentin said. The voice made her shudder. “Everyone return to the cafeteria.”

Several soldiers acknowledged as she left the pantry and locked the door behind her. She headed to the cafeteria and arrived without incident. She bypassed the main doors and entered the hallway to her right. She stopped at one of the three side doors and opened it a few centimeters to peek in. Everyone, including the children, huddled in the center of the room. A dozen well-armed soldiers surrounded them. Some of the children wept and the adults tried to comfort them. Itching to search the room with her telepathic senses, she refrained and kept her mind as blank as possible. She didn’t want to chance one of those soldiers was a telepath.

“You!”

Preeah froze. She knew that voice.

She risked opening the door a few centimeters more. Preeah saw, in all her perfect beauty with long, brown and curly hair, dark skin and large black eyes, the last person she expected to see.

Tara.

Chapter 9: The Detestable

Quinley strode the administration wing hallway deep in thought. He didn’t like the idea of separating from Preeah any more than hiding information from her. Sure Captain Stentin’s search posed a great threat to them, but she deserved to know the danger she was in. He believed she would help them if she knew the truth. Waiting until the last moment – especially if they left in a rush – would only cause her to hesitate.

He relayed none of this to Christoff, because he could not be swayed when he made a decision. Plus Christoff rarely made a bad decision. Quinley would, although grudgingly, do as Christoff asked.

He promised Preeah they’d spend the afternoon together, but he first stopped at his room. There he sat on his bed and stilled his mind. He hid everything Christoff told him in a place he hoped she wouldn’t look.

An hour later he went to her door. He didn’t have to knock to know the apartment was empty.

He searched first the courtyard and cafeteria, but when he didn’t find her, he became concerned. He asked everyone he saw if they had seen her, but each answered in the negative.

More anxious by the moment, he returned to her apartment to see if she left any clue as to her whereabouts.

He stopped at the door but again found it empty. He entered and saw nothing out of place except her Bible. It lay open on the floor. He picked it up, but before he closed it his eyes fell upon a passage. His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes in dismay.

He slammed the Bible shut and called Christoff to tell him what he think happened.

“What do I do?” He couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice.

“I don’t know,” Christoff said after a short, yet poignant pause.

Quinley clenched his fist. He knew what Christoff was thinking.

“I can’t let her go like that.”

He almost felt Christoff shrug. “Perhaps it’s better—”

Quinley shut down his link and left without a word to anyone. He figured she couldn’t have left long after he spoke with Christoff in his office, and she could only travel one way.

He flew down the road in his white skimmer minutes later. He kept his eyes and senses open for even the slightest sign of her.

Two kilometers out he spied a familiar form duck into a grove of bright red Erra trees.

He screeched to a halt on the side of the road.

“Preeah!” he yelled as he jumped out.

She didn’t respond, but he felt her anger clearly.

Please, Preeah, he thought to her. Talk to me.

No words, just more anger and a sense of betrayal.

He stepped into the trees, careful to avoid the poisonous purple thorns of the Erra trees. Using his telepathic senses to guide him, he found her standing in the shadows of a thick, gnarled tree with drooping branches and sickly yellow leaves.

“I can’t believe you.”

He stopped, startled by the venom in her voice.

“It’s not what you think—”

She stepped forward and a patch of sunlight illuminated her face. He staggered back, struck by the ferocity of her expression.

“Don’t be false to me,” she said. “I know what I read.”

“But you misunderstood—”

“Oh, I don’t think so. It was quite plain, Quinley. How can you believe in a God who finds people like us – what was the word – distasteful?”

She pointed a mechanical finger at him and said, “I respected you, loved you even. I even began to entertain the idea that this God of yours existed. But now – how can you believe in such a God who refuses to accept you, that in order to believe in him you have to deny your own nature – deny who you are?”

“I’m not, Preeah. I haven’t. If you come back—”

“I’m never going back to that place. I knew you were ashamed of what you had done, but not of who you are. I won’t allow myself to be brainwashed like you have, to morph into something I’m not. And for what? A delusion that a supposedly loving God is looking out for us? Where was he when you were abused? Where was he when I nearly burnt to death? Can you answer any of this? Or have you never bothered to ask?”

He clenched his jaw and fists in anger and frustration. “It never occurred me to change you. I love you for who and what you are. If you’ll listen—”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Explain it to me.”

Quinley sighed and stepped toward her until they were a mere two meters apart. “The passage you read talked about how God finds homosexuality detestable, that’s true. But understand it’s the act, not the person committing it that he finds so terrible.”

“But—”

He held up a hand and continued, “All sin is abhorrent to God. It’s only mankind that places some sins above others. A lie cannot enter heaven any more than murder or adultery can.”

“So if God finds it so awful, he expects us not to do it, correct?”

“He asks it of us, yes.”

She opened her arms, her eyes glinting as if in victory. “Then you lose your argument. He does expect us to change. So what happens when we don’t?”

Quinley closed his eyes and prayed for God to give him the right words.

He opened his eyes and said, “Jesus came to take away our sins, all of them, because he loves us and doesn’t want us to suffer for all eternity in payment for those sins. All he asks of us is to love him in return, and to give our souls over to him. We must accept him into our hearts as our Savior. He doesn’t expect us to be sinless. Strive for it, yes, but we will not always succeed. He knows this. He asks us only to come to him – just as we are. As we walk with him, then the changes come. Our desires become more like his, but it is always our choice. He gave us free will. Whether we believe in him or not, he’ll never take that away. I can still choose to walk away from him anytime.”

“So you still desire other men?”

He frowned, because he didn’t like to talk about it. “Yes, and I still succumb to the temptation now and again.” He swallowed and continued, “But Jesus understands, and when I repent with sincerity, he forgives. I don’t think I will ever be rid of my desires, and I will likely continue to do that which I don’t want to do until the day God calls me home in death.”

“So if he’s so powerful and forgiving, why doesn’t he simply take away that desire if it’s that important?”

“Preeah, I have prayed myself sick to be rid of them. Yet I’m reminded time and again that sometimes God leaves us with what we most long to be rid of, because it’s in our weakest moments that he’s strongest. My weaknesses serve to remind me just how much I need to depend on God, to lean on his strength instead of my own.”

She took a deep breath and gazed at the sky. He felt her anger subside and a deep sadness replaced it.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” she whispered.

“I have asked nothing of you except to keep an open mind. Listen to that voice you’ve heard of late, for that’s one way God speaks to us.”

She stared at him, her skin suddenly pale. “How did you—?”

“God speaks to me, too, you know.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, appearing small and lost.

“I understand your fears,” he said. “I really do. It’s normal to have doubts, but I promise you, God will answer your questions and give you the peace you long for. All you have to do is ask for it and believe he will answer.”

She dropped her arms and her gaze. He refrained from touching her mind, so she could come to this decision entirely on her own.

After several long minutes she looked up. Instead of meeting his eyes, she focused somewhere past his shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, Quinley. I can’t be what you expect of me.”

His chest suddenly felt compressed and he struggled to breathe.

He failed to convince her.

“But I’m not – I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” she said, her eyes boring into his. “You’ve hidden nothing from me, and I know your heart better than you do. I’m not like you. I can’t simply turn myself over to – anyone or anything on simple, blind faith, not when I have to give up who I am in the process.”

Quinley tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it refused to go down.

She closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his shoulders. Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I never wanted to hurt you, please know that. I owe you my life, but this is simply too much to ask of me.”

“That’s fine,” he whispered. “But you can still stay—”

“No. I can’t. Not for now anyway. I need time to think this out, without your influence.”

Grasping at any hope, however tenuous he asked, “You’ll come back someday?”

She dropped her arm and said, “I won’t be false to you. It could be never. I don’t know.”

“Grentinera Security is looking for you,” he blurted.

“What?”

He no longer cared that he was violating Christoff’s trust, so he told her about Captain Stentin.

She accepted the news with surprising calm.

“Then it’s good I’m leaving.”

Quinley shook his head and said, “But we can protect you. We planned on—”

“I’m better off alone. That’s what I’m trained for. Besides, I’d never want to put you or any one else in danger. If Security finds out you assisted me, they will also uncover whatever it is you’re trying to conceal. I can’t allow that if I can help it.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she grabbed his shoulders and held him in such a fierce embrace he could hardly breathe.

“I do love you,” she whispered, “and I’ll miss you.” She kissed his cheek and released him.

He tried again to speak, but she placed a finger on his lips and said, “Don’t. You won’t switch my decision.” She smiled. “Nor should you ever beg.”

She stepped away, both her mind and face rendered blank of all emotion.

“Return home, Quinley.”

The finality in her voice turned whatever remained of his hope into a bitter dust. He knew words were useless now. He could only let her go.

“Please remember—”

“I know where to find you.”

He turned and walked back to his skimmer. Every step was not so much a step away from Preeah, but a step away from the dream he had built around her. She was right about that. From the moment he gave his life to Christ, he prayed for someone who understood him; someone he could confide his most personal, deepest thoughts to without embarrassment or fear of judgment. He thought Preeah was that person. Now all that was lost, if it ever existed.

He reached his skimmer, placed his forehead on the sun-warmed roof and prayed. He prayed for Preeah’s safety, he prayed she would soon come to recognize the truth, and he most fervently prayed she would come back to him.