Finally!
Peace!
It had taken over five and a half years, but at last the war was over. At least, in Europe, it was over. There was still some fighting going on over on the other side of the world, against what remained of the military and naval forces of Imperial Japan, but there no longer was any doubt about the eventual outcome. It was just a matter of time before there would be peace.
Peace.
She was an Arion. The Arion Empire had always been in a state of war, and probably always would be. At least until either the last Warrior Prime was killed in combat, or they killed everything else in the universe.
Unfortunately it was always the Betas like her --- and her children --- that got caught in the middle.
All her life, all she had known was war. It would take some getting used to. But peace had to be better than war. It was already getting better with the peace in Europe.
Not that it was necessarily making life any easier for this particular black-haired woman, as she stood with her hands on her hips and looked around with a sigh at the devastation in the living room of her small flat. It reminded her of the first time that she had seen London, shortly after the Blitz. On a smaller scale, fortunately, though seemingly not very much smaller.
Life was slowly returning to normal in the British Isles. Not that the woman knew what 'normal' was, not having been here before the war. But her husband, and others, kept assuring her that it was.
She was no longer working at the Government Code and Cipher School in Bletchley Park. The Germans had been too busy fighting for their lives to come up with anything new in their codes in the past year. And with the end of the war in Europe, only the people working on the Japanese codes were left. Which gave her plenty of time to stay at home.
Due to the Official Secrets Act, she was not allowed to discuss her experiences with the GCCS. There was some hope of working in the civilian coomunications field, though of course there would be a lot of military veterans coming home soon.
What she had to do at home was almost enough to make her want to go back to working overtime at Bletchley Park. Or to seek out more consulting work with the BBC station in the city.
Almost. Her most important responsibilities were here at home. Sighing again as she pushed thoughts of work out of her mind, she turned and considered her current work. Drawing a deep breath, she went into the kitchen in pursuit of her prey.
She had thought that she'd had her prey trapped in the living room, but the little whirlwind had squirted between her legs and through the door into the kitchen.
As she followed the object of her pursuit, it squirted under the kitchen table, sliding a chair behind itself and turned, waiting for her. She suppressed a grin --- it almost looked as if it was already in a cage, with the legs of the chairs forming the bars. She pulled out a chair with one hand and reached for her prey with the other. The little creature skipped out of reach and dashed behind another chair, showing amazing agility for one so young.
Exasperated, she straightened up and grasped the edge of the wooden table with her left hand. One of the chairs clattered to the floor, knocked aside by a table leg, as she lifted the entire table up off of the floor. With her other hand, she managed to grab a hold of her prey's arm, just before it could disappear under another chair.
Holding the wriggling object up to her bosom, she set the table back down and turned, heading out through the living room and into the nursery. The clock on the wall told her that it was already half an hour past her daughter's designated bedtime. "Young lady," she said, knowing that the girl was too young to catch the stress on the 'lady', "when I say it's time for you to go to bed, I mean it." She laid her precious little bundle down on her bed and tucked her in. "Now, be a good young lady and go to sleep. Remember, your father's coming home tomorrow. You don't want to sleep through that."
"Papa!" The girl was still too young to understand that her mother's husband actually wasn't her biological father. He was still her father in every way that counted to a four-year old.
"Yes, Papa's coming home tomorrow. Now go to sleep so you can be awake to welcome him home."
"Yes, Mama," Tyreen replied, finally acknowledging defeat. For tonight, at least.
She bent over and kissed the girl's forehead. Straightening up, she looked down, to make sure that she wasn't going to try some final trick to delay her bedtime any further than she already had. Satisfied, she walked across the room to the crib, where her infant son was sound asleep, blissfully ignorant of the chase that had just taken place. She wiped the spilt milk from his mouth before bending over to kiss his forehead. She then checked to make sure the other end was also dry, before going back into the living room, quietly closing the door behind her. After straightening up the mess in the living room and in the kitchen --- fortunately nothing had been broken --- she finally retired to the peace and calm of her own bedroom. Taking off her nightgown, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
"I wasn't that bad at that age, was I? It's a good thing I'm an Arion Beta," Chirren thought to herself. "There's no way a Terran mother could keep up with Tyreen." Sighing, she rolled over on the wide double bed, laying an arm across the empty half. "Or a Terran father, though he tries, when he's here." She buried her face in the other pillow, savoring the faint lingering odor of her husband.
Even after nearly three years of marriage, she was still getting used to that concept. She had been surprised when Donovan Mackenzie proposed to her. Arion males usually didn't want to have anything to do with a female who already was busy taking care of some other male's child.
They had spent many hours talking about it. And about many other things. About how much trouble she would have fitting into his society, seeing as how she and Tyreen were the only Arions in England. Perhaps the only Arions left on the entire planet --- towards the close of the war she had seen an Enigma message that hinted at a complete Arion withdrawal from the planet. About how unlikely they were to have any children of their own. And especially about how little Tyreen would grow up to be much stronger than he was, just as Chirren was stronger than he was.
Maybe even stronger than her mother was. She and Marlen had discussed the possibilities that having been conceived and born on a world under a hot yellow sun, so unlike the dull red sun back home, would have on such a child.
And that was without taking into consideration the girl's father.
A tear came into her eye as she thought about Marlen. She had been so unlike any other Arion Primes that she had known. She had actually cared about the people under her, even though they had only been Betas. Though of course, Marlen had been a special case, since she was the first female Prime to whom Chirren had been assigned. "I wish you could be here to see little Tyreen now," she thought to herself. Then, she grinned as a mischievous thought crossed her mind, "I wish you could be here to baby-sit little Tyreen. Then just maybe, I could get some rest. It's not easy, raising an Arion girl without an Arion father."
Another tear came into her eye as her thoughts returned to Tyree, Tyreen's father. He hadn't been her first partner, but he had been the first man for whom she had really cared.
He had been born a full-blooded Arion Beta, just as she was. But could he have become more? Marlen had passed on many of her Arion Prime attributes to Vicky, and Tyree had been Marlen's lover, one of them at any rate, for much longer. Tyree had never displayed any Prime attributes, but could he have somehow acquired some and passed them on to his daughter? Was it possible for an enhancement to have stayed hidden, lying dormant waiting to be passed on to his offspring?
But Betas couldn't be enhanced by Primes, could they? If they could, the Empire surely would have done it generations ago, if only to raise the general military capability of the Beta majority. Or would that threaten the iron rule of the Primes?
Or was it something else? Something totally unrelated to enhancement? Since Betas shared much of the same genetics as Primes, could the two of them somehow have produced a child who was more than an ordinary Beta? Some quirk in the combination of genes that made her more a Prime than a Beta, at least in some ways?
She knew that Tyreen wasn't a full Prime. There was simply no way that a Beta woman could carry a Prime child to full term, a Prime infant would kick its way out of its mother's womb long before that. Still, it had been a particularly difficult pregnancy --- especially in the later stages --- though of course she'd had no previous personal experience at the time with which to compare. Her second pregnancy --- with Daniel --- had been easier, much easier.
She briefly reconsidered her decision to enforce little Tyreen's bedtime. It might have been better to let her completely exhaust herself tonight. But no, like all children she recovered much too quickly --- by morning, it wouldn't have made any difference at all. She would still be just as rambunctious as ever. Already, she was almost as strong and almost as quick as Donovan was. In another year or so, she probably would be stronger and quicker. And Donovan was one of the strongest and quickest Terrans that Chirren had ever met, having spent much of the war as the unarmed combat instructor at the Commando base where they had first met. They had become lovers there, even while she was still carrying Tyreen. She truly had been surprised at his proposal of marriage.
And she had surprised herself by accepting his proposal. A Terran man, not another Arion. Of course, there hadn't been too many other Arion men around at the time.
Eventually, he had convinced her to accept. Part of it was the fact they were the only Arions in England, Marlen having been lost in a raid on Germany. She had to admit that she could not survive by herself in England, not while raising a daughter. While the other women at Bletchley Park had been a big help, she knew that this was a temporary wartime thing, and that the war would not last forever.
Whenever she thought back on it, she was glad that he had been persistent enough in his assertion that it didn't matter who Tyreen's father was, that he would consider her as his own daughter. He had been as good as his word. And, she had to admit to herself, she had never felt this way for any man besides Tyree.
But little Daniel had been a surprise. A big surprise. She really hadn't thought that she could get pregnant with Donovan's child. As with many women, her second pregnancy had gone easier than her first. Daniel was showing all the signs of growing up to be a normal healthy boy. A normal healthy Terran boy. Though he probably would grow up to inherit some of his mother's Arion strength and quickness, she didn't think that he would ever be as strong or as quick as his older full-blooded Arion half-sister was sure to be.
At least, Daniel was a quiet baby, one who spent most of his time sleeping, with little need for lullabies, Arion or Terran, even when he had started teething. No one who had known her would ever remember Tyreen as having been a quiet baby. Chirren was firmly convinced that Tyreen's lungs had been the first part of her body to show its greater Arion strength. And endurance, she never seemed to run out of air.
Rolling back over, she was about to turn of the light when her eyes fell on the letter on the nightstand. Picking up the letter, she started reading, for perhaps the tenth time that day.
"I miss you, too," she whispered tenderly, almost as if she was holding a conversation with the piece of paper in her hand, before reading on.
"Hurry home, my love, I miss you," she whispered, putting down the letter and turning off the light. Rolling over, she buried her face in the other pillow again, filling her nostrils with Donovan's scent.
At least this time, she didn't have to fear for his safety. With the war over, she could take comfort in the fact that he wasn't on a raid somewhere behind enemy lines. For the past week, he had been up north, in Scotland, arranging a place for his family to live, now that he would soon be mustered out of the Navy.
Of course, there was more to it than that. He was preparing the rest of the Mackenzie clan to meet his wife, stepdaughter, and son. In nearly three years of marriage Chirren hadn't met more than a handful of his relatives, and those only briefly at the wedding.
And of course, there was no way that any of them would ever meet any of her relatives. Except for her children, of course.
The young woman hurried down the street, the knee-length skirt revealing a pair of shapely calves. A strand of her hair escaping from underneath her scarf glinted gold as it briefly caught the moonlight. At the corner, she stopped briefly and looked around, as if to get her bearings, and then turned to the right and hurried on.
An informed observer would not have faulted her nervousness. Several women had been assaulted recently in this area. Mostly women affiliated with the occupying Allied forces, leading to the assumption that the assailants were disgruntled former German servicemen. Of course, that hypothetical observer would have to be a very informed one to know that this woman was actually hoping to encounter the assailants.
Halfway across the block, just as she was crossing the mouth of a dark alley, a hand reached out and grabbed her arm, bringing her to a stop. His other hand brought a knife up to her face. Another man came up behind her, also wieldng a knife.
With the curfew in effect, the street was nearly deserted. Taking a quick look around her, she could only see one other man, a block behind her on the other side of the street, trying very hard not to see her predicament. She knew that she could expect no interference from that quarter. Suppressing a smile, she let the two men pull her into the alley.
One of the men pushed her back against the half-timbered wall, pinning her there with an arm across her throat. There was no way that he could have known that she had allowed herself to be manhandled thus --- that if she had braced herself, he would have been unable to budge her a single inch.
Nor was he able to stop her as her hand came up to his arm, twisting it, causing him to drop the knife and forcing him down to his knees. Likewise, his friend was unable to resist when her other hand clamped around his wrist like a steel vise, flinging him down on top of the first man.
As she stood over them, one of them sprang up to his feet. Or rather, he tried to spring up to his feet. The top of his head impacted against her right breast, forcing her to gasp and take a step back.
Reflexively, her right arm closed around his neck, maintaining the contact. She'd always enjoyed having a man touch her breasts, and this occasion was no different. She pressed his head harder against her soft breast, lightly stroking herself with him. Savoring the feeling, she was just about to press his skull harder against herself when she felt something else. A much sharper sensation, starting on her left side, working up her ribs, and then under her left breast.
Surprised, she pushed the man back down to the ground, on top of the other man. Even in the dark alley, her sharp vision had no difficulty in discerning the glistening knife the man held in his right hand. She quickly reached down with her left hand, closing her fingers around the blade. A flick of her wrist twisted the knife out of his grip.
Dropping the knife into her coat pocket, she leaned over the two men again. Holding one man down on top of the other with one hand, she brought her other hand up to her face. Putting two fingers in her mouth, she whistled twice.
Vicky Sinclair, née Roberts, knew that she shouldn't have been out alone this late. At least, no ordinary woman should have been out alone this late. But then, she was no ordinary woman.
Her husband, Commander Michael Sinclair, R.N., was attached to the occupation forces stationed at the great port city of Hamburg. But right now, he wasn't at the port. Instead, he was standing on the street corner, watching the mouth of the alley into which his wife had entered.
As he watched, he heard two short whistles. He started running towards the alley, taking off his hat and waving it over his head. Two blocks away, a car's headlights came on. A couple of seconds later, the car began moving towards him.
He made it to the alley first. Turning in, he saw the three people inside. Two men were lying prone on the ground. The woman was kneeling between them, with a hand in the middle of each man's back, holding them down.
He moved in, sitting astride one of the men, as she moved her arm aside to give him room. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out two cords. Handing one to his wife, he looped the cord over the man's left wrist. He was still struggling to capture the man's right wrist when a slender arm flashed into his sight, capturing the man's arm and bringing his wrist closer so that he could bind the two wrists together.
Leaving the man's wrists bound behind his back, he stood up. Glancing over at the other man, he was satisfied to see his wrists also bound behind his back. Lifting his head, he looked at the woman standing over her victim. She was wrapping her coat around herself, buttoning it up. "I think you've done it, Vicky," he said.
"I hope so," she answered. "I was getting tired of these walks. They weren't the romantic moonlight walks I had in mind when you persuaded me to marry you." Her arms reached out, taking his hands in hers and pulling him to her for a quick kiss.
He was sure that she hadn't intended it to be merely a quick kiss, but the sound of running feet behind him caused her to break it off. As she released his hands, he turned around to face the two military policemen entering the alley.
They stopped and saluted. "Are these the two men we're after, Commander?" one of them asked, looking down at the two bound men on the ground.
"I believe so, Sergeant," Michael replied, picking a knife up off of the fround and handing it to the sergeant. "Take them down to the post for questioning."
"Yes, Sir." The two MPs raised the men to their feet and marched them out of the alley, pushing them none too gently into the back of the car. They then drove off.
Alone, he turned to his wife. "Now, you were saying something about a moonlight walk."
"As long as it's a short one. Straight to the car, and then straight inside once we get home."
"Yes, Ma'am." He gave her a mock salute, and then took her hand when she offered it. As if on cue, another car pulled up at the entrance to the alley. Opening the door, he handed her in, and then got in next to her. There was no need for words, as the driver put the car into gear and drove off as soon as Michael had closed the door.
Their townhome wasn't very far from the port, but somehow this section of the city had managed to survive the worst of the bombing --- the great firebombing attacks of '43. Most of the windows still had glass in them, though here and there some were boarded up, and a few of the buildings showed signs of fire.
It wasn't until they had gotten home, and she had taken off her coat, that he saw the big gash in her blouse. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
"Oh, I forgot. One of them pulled a knife on me." Picking up her coat, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a knife. He could see that the blade was nicked.
"Are you hurt?" he asked again, though he was pretty sure of the answer.
"I'll let you see for yourself," she replied, smiling at him, as she stepped closer. He then felt himself being lifted up off of his feet, as she picked him up in her arms and carried him off to their bedroom.
She laid him down on the bed. "First, let me make sure you're unhurt," she said, beginning to remove his clothes. "Okay, you're unhurt. So far," she grinned down at him, before letting him remove her clothes.
He was able to satisfy himself that she truly was unhurt, running his hands over her silky smooth skin. He knew that he would never get tired of feeling it. Either the skin, or what was under it. Again, he thanked Marlen for what she had given to Vicky.
His hands must have betrayed his thoughts, for she rolled over to face him. "You're thinking about Marlen, aren't you?" she said.
He cupped her large full breasts, squeezing with all of his strength. "It's hard not to. You're so much like her, she's given you so much."
"Including you?" she asked. He was spared having to answer that question, as he felt her arm sliding under his body, lifting him so that his lips met hers. He felt her breasts pressing almost painfully against his chest as he found himself, not for the first time, completely helpless in his wife's powerful embrace.
Then, he found himself back on the bed, as she walked off to the door. With her hand on the light switch, she turned back to him. Her bright blue eyes and her even white teeth gleamed as she smiled at him. "I hope you're ready," she said. "I'm going to do to you what those two men wanted to do to me." Before he could answer, she flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness.
Even with the lights off, there was more than enough light for Vicky's sharp eyes to allow her to find her way back to the bed and her husband with no trouble. Sliding one hand under his back and the other under his head, she lifted his body to hers again, kissing him deeply. She felt her breasts flattening slightly against his chest, telling her that she was holding him as tightly as she dared.
What she did to him that night wasn't exactly what those men wanted to do to her. They probably wouldn't have been quite as rough with her as she was with him.
Not that he had anything to complain about.
Nor had she. There had been times when she wished that she could hold him harder and have him return her embraces with a strength to match hers. However she had come to accept the fact that she could never use anything close to all of her strength in her lovemaking. What little she could use was enough to keep her satisfied.
It was certainly more than enough to keep him satisfied.
Daniel Mackenzie was working out with the weights in the back of his father's dojo, as he usually did right after school, before doing his homework. Not quite nine years old, he was already exercising with weights that taxed his father's abilities.
Even though his father was one of the strongest men in the city, Daniel knew that he had actually inherited his strength from his mother. He still wasn't exactly sure why, but he knew that his mother was about five times stronger than his father was. She was also much better at the martial arts than he was, at least in their private sparring sessions.
He enjoyed working out here. In private, he could use all of his strength, without holding anything back, as he had to do at school. There, he had to be careful not to show his incredible strength. Here, he could let it all out, to actually work up a good sweat. And he enjoyed working up a good sweat, partly because he didn't get to do so very often.
Taking a deep breath, he started to lift the weight up to his shoulders.
He was so lost in the thrill of the workout that he hadn't even heard the door open. "You're not using this one, Dan-Dan?"
There was only one person who called him that. Putting down the weight, he turned around to see his twelve year old sister, Tyreen. She was dressed in her black workout clothes, a set that had been handed down from their mother. It was still a bit too large for her, fitting quite loosely.
Straddling one of the smaller weights, she squatted down and reached out for the heaviest weight with her right hand. A weight that neither he nor his father could lift. A weight with which he had seen their mother exercise. Straightening up, she easily raised the weight over her head, using just her right arm, her left arm extended to the side. "What do you think, Dan-Dan?" she smiled at him, one of her usually brilliant smiles, with her deep blue eyes twinkling, practically glowing.
No matter how ofen he saw it, he still marveled at how strong she was, how effortless it was for her to lift heavy weights like this, her slim body hardly flexing as she lifted it as if the heavy weight was no more than a pencil. He could feel his body responding to the incredible display of feminine strength. He knew that it was wrong for him to be responding like this, that it was his own older sister that he was seeing. But that still didn't keep his body from responding to the young woman in front of him. And there was no mistaking the fact that it was indeed a young woman in front of him, the way her body was beginning to fill out her clothes in ways that neither he nor his friends ever would. He knew that he was biased somewhat, but he thought that she was the most beautiful girl in the whole world.
And the strongest person in the whole city. Maybe even in the entire world, except for Aunt Vicky of course.
He swallowed twice, trying to control himself. "Not bad, Sis. You're still getting stronger, aren't you?"
She lowered the bar to her shoulder, and then pressed it overhead again. "I think so, Little Brother. I'm almost three times as strong as Mama now." She pressed the bar overhead four more times, still without showing any signs of effort, before transferring it to her left hand for five more repetitions.
He had known that Tyreen was the strongest member of his family, even stronger than their mother was, but he hadn't realized just how strong she actually was. He quickly did the calculation in his head. If Tyreen was three times as strong as their mother was, and Mama was five times stronger than their father was, then Tyreen was fifteen times stronger than Papa was. Fifteen times stronger than one of the strongest men in the city.
And she was a young girl, only twelve, three years older than he was. How strong would she be when she was grown?
How quickly things change. It was less than a decade ago that the Russians were firm allies. Until America entered the war, just about the only allies that they'd had against the Germans. Now, Commander Michael Sinclair was in East Germany, fighting against the Russians.
It wasn't a real war. Not openly. Nobody had declared war on anybody else. Armies weren't opposing each other on a battlefield. A Cold War, some people were calling it. But even in a cold war, you could still end up just as dead as in a hot war.
Well, he would just have to do his best to keep from ending up dead. He had done a pretty fair job of it so far.
Suppressing a chuckle, he glanced over at the person seated next to him in the train compartment. If anything, the blonde as his side was the one who had done a pretty fair job of keeping him from getting killed. She was the one who deserved most of the credit.
Apparently, he hadn't suppressed the chuckle adequately, for she turned to him, with a puzzled look on her face. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, I was just thinking how well I'd managed to keep from getting killed. And how it's really you who've kept me alive." He took her hand and squeezed. "My secret weapon."
She squeezed back, with what he knew was just a small fraction of her strength. "Of course. I didn't marry you just to become a widow. I have to protect my investment."
Just then, the steam whistle cut off further conversation. The train slowed down, as it entered the station. Michael was here to meet with an agent, who had smuggled some information across the border from Poland. It would be Michael's job to get the information to the West across the real border, across the so-called Iron Curtain.
And it would be her job to protect him, to protect her 'investment'.
Leaving the train, they walked two blocks to a small run-down hotel, to check in for the night. They would be meeting their contact during the night, and they needed the room to provide cover.
"So, what do we do for the rest of the day?" Vicky asked with a smile, putting down her suitcase beside the lighter one that he'd carried.
He had a pretty fair idea of what she wanted to do. "Are you in the mood?" he asked, unnecessarily.
"I'm always in the mood, if you are." She walked over to him, pushing him down onto the lumpy bed and starting to unbutton his shirt.
"I figured you would be." He reached up to begin unbuttoning her blouse. "I don't think I've ever known you not to be in the mood."
The rest of their clothes quickly came off. She was then on top of him, stopping all further conversation by smothering his lips with hers, her large firm breasts pressing almost painfully against his chest, before she rolled them over, putting him on top and guiding his face down to her breasts.
She spread her legs at the lightest touch on her thigh, lifting him up and putting him into position. He knew that she wasn't holding him with anywhere near all of her strength, yet her arms felt like steel bands around his body, as he thrust away at her.
When he finished, it was her turn. After giving him adequate time to recover, she rolled him over onto his back. Throwing a leg over him, she mounted him. Even though she was careful to be gentle with him, this round of lovemaking was quite a bit more vigorous than the first one had been.
Afterwards, they dressed and prepared for dinner. They would be meeting with their contact afterwards.
The rendezvous was in a run-down part of the city. Actually, most of the city seemed run-down, still showing the effects of the Allied bombing during the war, in marked contrast to the West, where much more rebuilding had taken place.
The rendezvous went off without a hitch. Two spools of microfilm changed hands, one in each direction. They then returned to their hotel room for the night.
Michael fished the key out of his pocket as they climbed the stairs. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open to allow her to precede him inside. Stepping inside, she was just reaching for him to pull him to her and to throw him onto the bed when a pair of arms closed about her, pinning her arms to her body.
Snapping her arms open, she pushed back. There was a muffled OOF as a body hit the wall. Turning around, she saw the body crumpling down to the floor. He did not move any more.
The same could not be said of the other two bodies, grappling just inside the door. Reaching into the melée, she separated the two bodies. Determining which one was her husband, she gently but firmly pushed him away onto the bed. She then quickly trapped the other man's head, locking her arm around his head in a headlock.
Still holding her captive, she turned him around to face Michael. "Did you order something from room service?"
He ignored her attempt at humor and came up to her captive, "Who sent you?"
The man did not answer, only continuing to struggle to try to escape her hold. He increased his struggles when Michael started to search his pockets, until she increased the pressure slightly on his skull.
While she continued to hold the helpless man, Michael quickly searched the man's pockets, relieving him of his weapons. As expected, there were no identification papers. The other man's pockets yielded no more information.
Michael addressed a few more questions at the captive, who maintained a stony silence. Giving up, he addressed his wife. "Okay, put him to sleep."
The man began struggling again when she started to increase the pressure on his skull. She could feel her breasts flattening against his shoulder blades. Combined with her exertions, such as it was, not to mention what she had been thinking about as she had entered the room, she felt the beginnings of her arousal.
She quickly dismissed that thought, concentrating on the man in her arms, continuing to increase the pressure until he went limp. She continued to hold him a little longer in order to make sure that he wasn't faking it, before opening her arms and letting him drop to the floor.
"I think we should get away from here as quickly as we can," Michael said as she stepped back from the unconscious man.
She finished dampening down her arousal. As much as she wanted to, it wouldn't do much good if they were to get caught by whomever was behind their two attackers. She helped him get their belongings together.
They had just slipped out the back door of the hotel into the alley when a voice called out to them to stop.
"Run!" Michael said, dropping his suitcase and suiting his actions to his words. She threw her suitcase in the general direction of the voice and ran after her husband.
She heard shots ringing out. A bullet caught her in the shoulder, forcing out a gasp and sending her stumbling before she put down a hand and regained her balance.
She knew that they needed to put on more speed. She also knew that Michael was already running as fast as he could. Reaching out, she got her right arm around his waist and lifted him up off of his feet. At the same time, she picked up her pace.
The pursuit was still too close. "Sorry, but I'm going to have to go faster." She raised him up higher and slung him over her shoulder as she picked up the pace even more. At the end of the alley she turned into the street. She turned right at the first corner, then left at the next.
She ran on for about a mile to the alternate bolthole, a place set aside for just such an emergency. Looking back over her shoulder to make sure that she hadn't been followed, she went inside and set Michael down on the floor. "I hope the ride wasn't too rough."
"I have to admit, it wasn't the best ride I've ever had on you." He disentangled himself from her, holding his left arm with his right hand.
"What's wrong?" she asked when she saw the gesture.
"Oh, nothing."
"No, it's not." She walked up to him and gently but firmly moved his hand away. She felt more than saw the blood soaking his shirt. "You're hurt!"
"It's just a scratch," he said, flexing his arm to show her that it was fine.
She went into the bathroom and returned with a couple of towels. "Hold still," she said unnecessarily as she grabbed his arm and held it, wiping off the blood.
Despite his assurances, it was more than a scratch. She cleaned the wound as best she could, and bandaged it. "We're going to have to get you to a doctor."
"It's not that bad," he protested, taking his arm away from her when she finished wrapping it up.
"I told you I have an investment to protect. Now, are you going to go to a doctor, or do I have to carry you?" She stood up, putting her hands on her hips. "If I was hurt, you'd insist on it, and you know it."
"Hah! As if a doctor could figure out what to do with you."
It was an idea she would have to discuss with Michael. But it could wait until after they got home. And there were other things they would have to do first, once they got home.
"Uncle Michael! Aunt Vicky!"
Daniel Mackenzie pushed past his older sister and ran on ahead to greet the two newcomers. He knew that they weren't really his aunt and uncle, but that was what he'd always called them.
Tyreen Mackenzie knew that she could easily have caught and passed her younger brother, but instead followed at a more sedate and what she hoped was a ladylike pace. After all, she wasn't a child any more, she was almost fourteen years old now.
By the time that she got there, her brother had already exchanged initial hugs with the older couple.
"And who is this young lady?" Her 'uncle' said with a smile, holding her by her shoulders and taking a good look at her.
She gave her 'uncle' a gentle hug. She and her 'aunt' then hugged. A much harder hug this time. Vicky's hug was much harder than any that Tyreen had received from anybody else, including her mother. In return Tyreen hugged Vicky with all of her strength. Vicky Sinclair was the only person she knew whom she could hug without any fear of hurting.
"Aunt Marlen! I wanna hear about Aunt Marlen!"
Tyreen's ears perked up at her brother's request. She too enjoyed hearing stories about her other 'aunt'. And no one told them as well as Uncle Michael did. She knew that the grown-ups had their own talking to do, but they could do that after Dan-Dan and she were in bed. Not necessarily asleep, she had been to sneak out to listen.
She still didn't understand everything, but she knew that Aunt Marlen had come from the same place as had her mother. Someplace far, far away. And that Aunt Marlen was stronger than other people were, just as Tyreen and her mother were. But she was far, far stronger, stronger than Tyreen was. Even stronger than Aunt Vicky was. In fact, Aunt Marlen had been responsible for making Aunt Vicky so strong, though she didn't understand how.
Before she could go listen to Uncle Michael tell his story, she had to help her mother clean up the dining room table. But she knew that he wouldn't start until everybody was together, and with Aunt Vicky's help it didn't take them very long to clean up.
When she went out to the living room, her father was sitting in his easy chair while Uncle Michael was sitting at one end of the couch, with her brother sitting on the floor at his feet. Her mother sat down on the arm of the easy chair. Aunt Vicky sat down on the couch next to her husband.
Tyreen squeezed in on the far end of the couch, feeling Aunt Vicky's arm around her waist, anticipating the evening's story.
"Which story would you like to hear, Daniel?" Uncle Michael asked him.
"I was on a covert assignment in Norway, meeting with the Underground in an old fish processing plant that had been shut down by the war," Uncle Michael began. Tyreen immediately recognized the story as the one where he had first met Mama and Aunt Marlen. That didn't mean that she didn't want to hear it, like her brother she enjoyed all of his stories, no matter how many times she had heard them.
She also knew that these stories were to remain in the family.
"Marlen and your mother were locked in a cell in the basement," Uncle Michael continued. He looked over at Tyreen. "Along with Tyree. Your father, Tyreen."
Tyreen wiped away a tear at the mention of the father whom she had never known. At the same time she felt Aunt Vicky's arm tighten about her slightly, hugging her. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw Papa take Mama's hand. Everybody knew that her real father had died in that cell from the grievous injuries suffered at the hands of the Germans.
Uncle Michael continued on with the story. How Aunt Marlen had gotten her parents away from the German forces who had attacked them. How she had broken through the thick steel bars of the cell. How she had killed four men with her bare hands, even as they were shooting at her.
Tyreen felt her breasts tingling slightly as Uncle Michael described how the bullets had simply bounced off of Aunt Marlen's chest, forcing her to make a conscious effort to keep her hands in her lap. Her own budding breasts could probably stop a man's fists, but she knew that they couldn't stop bullets.
Uncle Michael told of how he had received instructions from London to bring the Arions back with him. They had run into a German patrol on the way to the rendezvous with the Royal Navy submarine.
"Suddenly, shots rang out," Uncle Michael continued. "Your mother and I dived into the trees on one side of the trail. Marlen dived into the trees on the other side. Your mother called out to her, but there was no answer. I started to go after her, but your mother held me back."
He looked at Mama and smiled. "She all but sat on me, not letting me up. 'Let Marlen handle it,' was all she said."
"And did she, Uncle Michael?"
"Of course she did, Danny. She came back a couple of minutes later, her coat a little tattered, some of her red dress showing through the bullet holes. 'Let's go,' she said, helping us to our feet. When I asked her what happened, she just smiled and told me that there had been only four of them."
"Four of 'em?"
"That's what she said, Danny, and I believed her. We didn't take the time to check." He grinned. "We had a sub to catch."
Four soldiers, armed, and Aunt Marlen had taken care of them, singlehandedly and unarmed. Tyreen knew that she could defeat any four men in unarmed combat, but not four armed men. Aunt Marlen really must have been a remarkable woman. She wished that she had gotten the opportunity to know her, but she had given her life during a mission into Germany so that the others could live. She had heard that story numerous times as well.
On their arrival in England, Uncle Michael had taken the two women with him to the Commando base. Aunt Marlen had become a valuable member of the Commando team, though that was a subject for other stories. Mama and Papa had met there also, though that too was another story.
"Didn't she capture a sub all by herself?"
Uncle Michael looked over at his wife. "Well, Vicky helped a little."
"Tell us about that one, Uncle Michael."
"I think it's time for you children to go to bed," Papa announced. As usual when Uncle Michael told of Aunt Marlen, Tyreen had been so wrapped up in the story and her thoughts about its subject that she had been completely oblivious to the passage of time.
"Aw, Papa. I wanna hear about Aunt Marlen and the U-boat," her brother protested.
"You heard Papa," Mama said, getting up to her feet. "It's time for bed. We need to let Papa and Uncle Michael talk."
"Can't we listen? I won't be in the way."
"Now, now, Tyreen," Aunt Vicky said, standing up and lifting Tyreen to her feet. "They don't even let me listen in on their man talk."
"Aw, Aunt Vicky..."
"Now, children."
"Yes, Mama." Tyreen knew that tone of voice --- there would be no further appeal. She and Dan-Dan exchanged hugs with Aunt Vicky and Uncle Michael. They kissed Papa good night and accompanied Mama to their rooms.
Lying in her bed, Tyreen tried to listen to the conversation in the living room. Even with her sharp hearing, which she knew was much better than usual among Terrans, she could only catch an occasional word as the men talked about something. She knew that Aunt Vicky and Mama were having their own conversation, probably in the kitchen.
Vicky was here alone, lying on the floor in a dark and deserted building. But not completely deserted, she knew that there were at least two gunmen somewhere ahead of her, maybe more, in the building with her.
It had been at her request that she was now here. So it had been her idea. So she was the best man, or rather, the best woman, for the job. She was the one who was bulletproof, not her husband.
She couldn't take very much comfort in that thought, however, as another bullet whizzed by overhead, causing her to duck instinctively. The bullet hit the brick wall above her, showering her with chips of brick. Before she could even think about brushing herself off, another bullet hit about two inches closer, showering her with more debris.
That was too close for comfort. She knew that the bullets couldn't hurt her. At least, she didn't think so --- she'd been shot before. Still, a lucky shot might find something vulnerable, perhaps an eye or some other such weak point. And the longer that she stayed here, the more firepower they could bring to bear on her. Marlen may have been able to withstand a direct hit from a cannon, but she didn't think that she could. It was definitely time to move on. Gathering herself up, she leaped for the boarded up window.
There was more gunfire. One bullet found its mark. It tore through her coat and her shirt, striking her left breast. The unexpected impact knocked her off balance. She stumbled, going down to the floor, her face in the dirt. Spitting out the dirt, she got back up and leaped for the window again.
The wooden boards splintered as she hit them. She then hit the alley, twenty feet below the window. Rolling, she sprang back up to her feet and ran. Crouched over to present as small a target as possible, she couldn't run as fast as she would have wanted to, only about twenty miles per hour. It might not have been as fast as she would have liked, but it was fast enough to get her to the end of the alley before the gunmen could reach the window. She continued on, leaping to the riverbank below.
Continuing to run, she quickly got out of immediate danger, following the river out of the city. After a couple of miles, the river turned into rapids as it narrowed and the banks climbed higher. Further ahead, she could hear the sound of a waterfall. Knowing that her destination was on the other side of the river, she stopped at the river's narrowest point.
Turning, she faced the rushing water. She then leaped for the opposite bank, no more than forty feet away, landing on the gently sloping bank.
Unfortunately, the footing on this side was not as good as it had been on the other. She began sliding backwards, towards the water. In a panic, she reached for something, anything, to stop her descent. Her right hand closed about a branch of a small bush.
The branch snapped under her weight. She continued sliding backwards, over the edge, and into the water. The current began sweeping her under, and towards the falls.
She found herself strangling under the water. In nightmare helplessness, she was scraped over the rocky bottom. The pressure in her lungs began to hurt her. It was agony. Now, she was breathing again, one single gulp of air like fire in her throat as she went under again, and down to the rocks at the bottom, until her breast was hurting worse than before. Then another quick breath --- it was as painful to breathe as it was to strangle. Over and down, her ears roaring and her head swimming. The grinding of the rocks of the riverbed over which she was dragged was louder than any thunder she had ever heard. Another gulp of air --- it was as if she had been anticipating it, but she had to force herself to make it, for she felt as if it would be easier not to, easier to allow this agony in her breast to consume her.
Down again, to the roar and the torment below the surface. She realized that she was caught in the swirl below the rapids, being swept downstream on the surface, pushed into the undertow and carried up again along the bottom, to be spewed up and granted a second in which to breathe before being carried round again. She was ready this time to strike out sideways, at her next breathing space. When she was next sucked down, the pain in her breast was inconceivably greater, and blending in with that agony was another just as bad, the pain of the cold in her limbs. It required every bit of her resolve to force herself to take another breath and to continue her effort sideways when the time came for it. Down again, she was ready to die, willing, anxious to die, now, so that this pain would stop. Then her resolve flickered up once more. She caught a gulp of air as she rose to the surface, striking out for the shore, waiting in apprehension to be dragged down again. Splendid, she had time for a second breath, and a third. Now, she wanted to live, so heavenly were those painless breaths she was taking. She got to her feet, fell as the water swept her legs away again from under her, splashed and struggled in mad panic, scrambling through the shallows on her hands and knees. Rising, she took two more steps, before falling with her face in the mud and her feet still trailing in the water.
She lay there for five minutes, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Finally, she pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and looked around herself. She realized that she had managed to cross the river, though not quite in the way that she had originally intended to.
Climbing up the bank, she gained the dirt road. With better footing, and without any need to crouch, she quickly made it to the next village, covering the three miles in just under the same number of minutes.
She slowed down as she heard voices. Without looking down at herself, she knew that she had to be a mess. Looking down only confirmed it. Green grass stains and brown mud stains clashed with her dark blue coat and her blue denim jeans, all of which was still soaked, the cool night air not doing much to dry it off.
Not wanting to go through the center of the village, she ran off of the road and began going around. She had almost made it around when she spotted a car partially hidden in the forest. She was backing away when a shot rang out.
Even as she dived behind a tree, more shots rang out. Dirt and pieces of tree rained down upon her. Crawling through the undergrowth, she couldn't go as fast as she wanted to, only about a fast walking pace for a normal person.
She circled around until she came to another partially concealed car. There was a soldier leaning against the side and looking bored. In what had to be total violation of regulations, he took out a cigarette, lit it, and began smoking. She circled around behind him, moving as quietly as she could. As he dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with his boot, she leaped. An arm around his neck prevented him from raising an alarm before his neck was snapped.
Ignoring the blood that spattered the front of her clothes, she threw the body into the back of the car. Getting in behind the wheel, she started it up. It was easier than running, and who'd think of looking for her inside a police car?
She drove on a couple of miles beyond her destination before ditching the car and doubling back on foot, making sure that she wasn't being followed.
He stood up as she came in. She could see the shock on his face, as well as the concern, as he took in her condition. The mud. The water. The blood stains. "What happened? Are you okay?"
She looked down at her condition, and forced a smile. "I'm fine. The blood's not mine."
He pulled out a chair for her. "What happened?"
She sank down gratefully into the chair. "It was a trap. They were waiting for me. I'm sure it was the Stasi." The East German secret police.
"The Stasi? But how could they have known?"
"Could somebody have tipped them off, telling them I was coming?"
"I'm pretty sure nobody at this end would do that. And I can't believe Joachim would set himself up." That wasn't his real name, they didn't even know it. "Maybe you just got lucky?"
"Could be. I never even got close to Joachim, let alone the microfilm."
"We can't stay here. We have to get moving."
"Not looking like this, I can't." As she quickly stripped off her clothes and began cleaning up, she told him what she had done to mislead any pursuit.
"That'll slow them down, but it won't stop them," he told her when she had finished.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. "I know, but it should buy us a little time."
"Seeing you like that is tempting, but I think we should leave tonight."
She smiled at the compliment as she finished undressing. "Unfortunately, I agree with you." Grabbing her suitcase, she put it on the bed and began rummaging through it for a fresh set of clothes. Finding something appropriate, she quickly put it on. "What do we do with this stuff?" She pointed out the pile of dirty clothes on the floor.
"We take it with us just long enough to throw it away somewhere."
She quickly made a bundle out of the dirty clothes as he gathered the rest of their things together. They'd had enough experience in moving out quickly, it wasn't long before they were ready to go.
Going down the stairs, they were quickly out the back door. Five minutes later they were on a train. The destination didn't matter much, it was simply the first outbound train from the station.
They changed trains at the next station. And again at the next one. And yet again several stations after that.
It was nearly noon before they were confident enough of having lost any pursuit that they checked into a run-down hotel. They didn't stay long however, just long enough for a short nap and a change of clothes. They spent a couple of hours catching a few more winks in a dark movie theater. In the evening they crossed the border and returned to the West. It was nearly noon the next day when they returned to their home in Hamburg.
"Wouldn't you know it?" she asked, as they were undressing for their first real sleep since they had left the East in such a hurry.
"Know what?" he asked back.
She finished undressing and headed for the bathroom before he could get there. "My first solo assignment, and I totally botched it."
"You didn't botch it," he told her through the door. "Not your fault the contact didn't make the rendezvous."
"It's not just that," she answered. "I should have been able to get away quietly. We should never have had to run like that."
"Hey, you got away. There's no way I could have gotten out of there on my own. Even with you to help me."
There was the sound of a flushing toilet and the bathroom door opened. "So are you saying it's a good thing I was on my own this time?"
"Something like that."
She gave him a quick kiss before he went in to do his business. When he came out, she was already in bed, with the covers pulled up to her neck.
"Well, I still feel like I botched it," she said, pulling back the covers to let him get in.
"You didn't." He climbed in. "You did just fine."
"Thank you." She rolled over and kissed him quickly. "Normally, I'd thank you properly, but I'm too tired." She gave him a rueful grin.
He grinned back at her. "That's good, because I'm too tired to be thanked properly." He rolled over onto his side, facing her. "Good night."
"Good night." She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes.
They were both asleep in a matter of minutes, without any need for their usual nighttime exercise. Neither of them awoke until nearly noon the next day.
A small vent opened up in the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Molten lava spewed forth, heating the water. Kept from flashing to steam by the immense pressure, the column of superheated water rose toward the surface.
The column widened as it rose --- dissipating the heat even as the pressure lessened --- until by the time that it neared the surface the temperature was below the boiling point.
The water also cooled the lava, but not before it contributed to the pushing apart of the two tectonic plates, helping to widen the Atlantic Ocean by an imperceptible amount. It would be years before laser reflectors would be put on the Moon to allow such measurements to be made.
Even though the event was not registered by even the most sensitive of scientific instruments on either side of the Atlantic, it triggered several underwater landslides in the area. The shock waves from these landslides triggered others in an ever-widening circle.
One of those landslides moved down the walls of an underwater canyon. As it did so, it dislodged a large roughly cylindrical metal object that had been perched on a ledge. The metal cylinder began to roll down the canyon wall.
The U-boat struck the bottom and broke in half just aft of the conning tower, scattering its contents across the ocean floor. Among those contents was the figure of a young woman. Had any sunlight been able to penetrate to this depth, one might have been able to see that she was wearing a short red dress with a gold lightning bolt on the front. A gold chain circled her throat. Twisted and corroded steel shackles circled her wrists and ankles.
Amazingly, the body seemed to be remarkably well preserved even after years of immersion in the cold salt water. Nor had it been crushed by the pressure of thousands of feet of depth --- equivalent to hundreds of atmospheres --- pressures that should have instantly crushed any human body.
The remains of the steel shackles fell away from her wrists, briefly causing her to float above the sea floor. The underground river --- not constrained to flowing downhill like its terrestrial counterparts --- began carrying her up the canyon. Her arms waved around in the current before she was eventually deposited on her face well over a mile away from the shattered hull of the U-boat.
She lay motionless on the sediment, waiting for the currents to carry her elsewhere.
