Marlen: Book 1

Chapter 9

The ambulance was waiting on the pier when the trawler East Wind came in. So were two cars from the harbormaster's office. Even before she was completely tied up, the paramedics came aboard, bringing a stretcher with them. One of the seamen led them down below to the cabin where their patient lay waiting.

The harbor policemen, after first telling the fishermen to stay around, started interviewing the two captains, that of the East Wind and of the ill-fated Sea Fox, in order to attempt to determine just what had happened, and to account for the loss of the Sea Fox's first mate, Jenkins.

She lay on a bunk, wearing nothing but a thin red dress that was much too skimpy for the locale and season. Her vital signs were weak. Her breathing was slow, and her blood pressure and pulse were dangerously low. They immediately transferred her to the stretcher and carried her off, some of the sailors helping them get it off the boat and onto the dock, before loading her into the ambulance, oxygen mask strapped over her mouth, one of the paramedics still working on something at her arm.

Jason Reed stood on the dock and watched the ambulance drive away, lights flashing and siren wailing, carrying away the young woman whom he'd helped rescue from the ocean.

He still didn't know who she was, or where she was from. That was what he told the authorities when it was his turn to be questioned. Nor was he able to tell them anything about the loss of the Sea Fox.

He did know that he wanted to see the girl again. That, he didn't tell them.

"Tyreen!" Despite the surprise, there was no mistaking the welcome in the older woman's eyes as they hugged briefly. "We weren't expecting you home until next week."

"I wanted to surprise you."

They broke the embrace. Then the older woman's eyes flicked down to the sling supporting the younger woman's arm. "You said you'd been hurt, but..."

"Oh, it's nothing. This is just a precaution." Tyreen Mackenzie slipped her arm out of the sling and waved it around. "I've almost got the full range of motion, though not with all of my strength. It's good enough for everyday use, like eating or writing." It was also good enough for everynight use as well, as John Bannon knew very well from personal experience. She stuck her arm back in the sling and then looked up with a sly smile. "This is just to try to get sympathy from other people."

"Well, in that case, you're not getting any from me."

"Who's your friend, and do we invite him in?" her stepfather asked, looking over his wife's shoulder at the young man standing behind Tyreen, two suitcases at his feet.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She tried to cover her embarrassment by adjusting the sling on her arm. "Mama, Papa, this is John Bannon. John, my parents, Donovan and Chirren Mackenzie."

"Does he work with you?" Is it safe to talk? was the real, unvoiced, question.

"Oh, yeah. Uncle Michael sent him along to keep me out of trouble."

John stepped forward and shook hands with the older couple. "It'll take a better man than I to keep her out of trouble."

"That's for sure. All you ever do it get me in trouble." She walked inside, accompanied by her mother. The two men followed with the luggage, though they both knew that either of the women was far stronger than the two of them combined. After all, they were just suitcases of clothes.

"Where's Dan-Dan?" Tyreen asked her mother, when they had gotten settled in and she was helping with the preparations for supper, bad arm and all.

"He's getting ready for the festival."

Had she been away from home that long? "Is that coming up soon?"

"This weekend. Don't worry, he'll be home in time for supper. With a friend. We'll have the whole family together tonight."

"A friend?" she asked. "Daphne?"

"Daphne," her mother confirmed, nodding her head.

Tyreen had met Daphne Hastings only a couple of times. Tyreen had gone to school with Daphne's older sister, Colleen. Back then, Daphne and Daniel were in school together, though he was a year older. Apparently the two of them had gotten a little more serious since then.

Her mother's earlier words hit home. "What do you mean, the whole family?"

"Well, it's about time you brought your young man home."

"Mama! He is not my young man. I just work with him."

"That's not what your Aunt Vicky told us."

"What? Is she spying on me? What else did she tell you?" Belatedly, she looked down at her left hand and the crushed remains of a potato within.

"It's okay, dear." Her mother reached for a towel and handed it over. "I simply asked Vicky to keep an eye on you. It's your Arion heritage."

"My Arion... But Mama, you... I mean, you and Papa..."

She laughed. "No, I stay with one man at a time. Papa now, and before that, your real father. But when I was younger..."

Like most young people, Tyreen had a little trouble picturing her mother as ever being young. But there was someone else, someone whom she'd heard a lot about. "Am I like Aunt Marlen?"

"In some ways, yes." Was her mother simply taking a breath, or did she sigh?

John Bannon had a little trouble figuring out from where Tyreen Mackenzie got her looks. She certainly couldn't have gotten it from her mother, since the mother still had hers. All in all, there was a very strong family resemblance.

And apparently, not just in looks. Tyreen had gotten at least some of her incredible strength from her, though the daughter was quite a bit stronger than was the mother.

He also wondered whether Tyreen had gotten any of her mother's cooking skills. With the demands of their careers, Tyreen had never cooked for him. At least nothing more than a cup of tea and an occasional breakfast. Her mother's cooking was absolutely fabulous, and he told her so.

"Tyreen deserves something after all that hospital food," her father replied. "That stuff's even worse than the usual Navy food."

"Oh, Papa," Tyreen said. "It's not as good as Mama's, but it wasn't that bad."

John turned to Tyreen. "Oh, my. You were in worse shape than I thought."

Everybody laughed. Everybody except Tyreen, that is. She punched his thigh under the table. A light punch; he knew that she could easily have knocked him across the room. He resisted the urge to escalate by kicking her under the table; he didn't want her to kick him back.

Tyreen was struck by how much Daphne Hastings had grown to resemble her older sister. Daphne's hair was wheat-colored, while Colleen's was auburn. Daphne's face was exactly as she remembered Colleen's. Even the little subtle gestures, like the way she brushed her hair back from her face, was that of her sister's.

Still, there was something --- other than the family resemblance --- about her that was disquieting, off-putting.

With a start, Tyreen realized that it was the younger girl's hair. Not the style, but the color. Almost the color of a Velorian's hair.

"Why should that affect me so much?" she asked herself. "It's not like I've ever even seen a Velorian. Not that I want to." Aunt Vicky was as close to a Velorian as she'd ever want to meet, and she was simply an enhanced Terran who just happened to be blonde. Though she suspected that some of the color was now coming out of a bottle.

As far as she knew, neither of her parents had ever seen a Velorian, either. Was it another part of her partially Prime makeup? A racial trait? Did being a Prime bring with it its own built-in aversion to Velorians?

She glanced across the table at her younger brother. He was showing no signs of aversion to the blonde girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. But then, he wasn't part Prime. He wasn't even fully Arion, being Terran on his father's side.

Maybe he was Arion enough. She remembered Mama telling her that many Arion males, especially Betas, entertained secret --- and not-so-secret ---- fantasies about those golden-haired superwomen, women physically stronger than they were.

Oh well, there was no point in worrying about her brother's sexual fantasies. While he'd always be her baby brother, he was also almost a grown man now. And her own sexual fantasies were more than enough to keep her busy.

She looked over to the other side, to where John Bannon sat next to her. Too bad he couldn't help out much on that front. Not that she didn't enjoy being with him, because she did. But there were times when she wished to be entwined in the arms of someone in her own strength class. As skillful and enthusiastic as he was, he just didn't have the physical strength to fully satisfy her. No Terran male did. For one of the few times in her life, she wished that she hadn't gotten quite so much of the Prime characteristics.

Apparently, a fascination with physically stronger females wasn't a trait that was unique to Arion males; he certainly showed no aversion to such a woman. At least as far as one such particular woman was concerned.

The mystery woman's condition had not improved when they arrived at the hospital. But then, it hadn't deteriorated any, either. She had not regained consciousness, so they still had no idea who she was, or where she was from.

Nor did they have any success trying to break her skin, for a blood sample or the introduction of an intravenous feeding tube. There being nothing else that they could do for her, 'Mary Doe' was taken to intensive care, still in a coma. She was still in her red dress, since they had no more success in taking it off of her than they'd had in trying to break her skin.

After two days, there still was no change in her condition. In intensive care, she was not allowed to have any visitors.

John Bannon had never tossed a caber before. In fact, he'd never actually touched one before. But he was willing to give it a try.

At least until he actually got one in his arms. It was even heavier than it looked. It was almost impossible to keep it upright.

It did turn out to be impossible. He'd taken no more than two steps when he felt it start to tilt to the left. He scrambled out of the way, considering himself lucky to have gotten out of its way when it came down.

Tyreen was by his side almost immediately, with concern in her voice. "You okay, John?" She reached down with her good hand and helped him up to his feet.

He looked down at the big log. He then looked up at her face. Even with her brow creased with worry, it was a much better sight. "Yeah, but I don't think this is my sport."

"It's not for everybody," she agreed.

"We Scots are a little crazy, aren't we?" her brother said, a grin threatening to split his face in half.

"Speak for yourself, Dan-Dan." She lifted her chin. "I don't have any Scotch in my veins."

Daniel was undeterred. "You wanna give it a try, Big Sister?"

"Oh, I don't know, Dan-Dan. It's been a while."

Daniel turned to the older man. "Don't let her fool you. She's the best caber tosser who never competed."

"Dan-Dan! You know it wouldn't be fair." She turned to John. "Besides, they don't let girls compete in the toss. It's a man's sport." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, which was not lost on her companions.

"C'mon, Sis. Show him how a girl does it." Daniel would make a good publicity agent, except that Tyreen didn't need one. And he knew it too, how she had to keep her abilities under wraps. Most of the time. But John was practically family, and already knew about his sister. Probably too much, he thought to himself. Still, he adored his older sister, and her incredible strength.

Seeing the way that both men were looking at her, Tyreen surrendered gracefully. "Well, okay. But just this once."

"Are you sure you should be doing that? I mean, with that bum wing of yours?" There was a note of caution in John's voice.

"Don't worry. I won't strain it." She slipped her arm out of the sling. "Tell you what. I'll do it one-handed." Hoisting the log, she held it up. True to her word, she held the log with her left hand at its base, using her right hand only to balance it.

"Like I said, just one arm." Trotting to the line, her right arm flew out to the side as her left arm launched the log into the air.

The caber described a graceful arc as it turned on its end. It came down about ten yards beyond Daniel's toss.

"See? What did I tell you?" Daniel's voice was bursting with pride over his older sister.

There was no hint of pride in Tyreen's voice. "Damn! I really am rusty." She turned to face the two men and brushed off her hands. "I should have been able to get at least another twenty yards, even one-handed."

Too nervous to sit, the young man paced in the waiting room. Twelve steps one way, turn around, twelve steps back the other way. Repeat. Sometimes he thought he spent more time here than he did at home.

"Mr. Reed?"

Jason turned around. "Doctor Simmons! Is there any change?"

"I'm afraid not." She tucked her stethoscope into the pocket of her white coat. "If we knew more of her medical history..." She shook her head and then ran her fingers through her short blonde hair.

Jason spread out his hands. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I've already told you everything I know about her." This wasn't the first time that they'd had this conversation; they'd been having it nearly every day for the past week. Unfortunately, they hadn't gotten any closer to the answer in all that time.

"I know. How you and your crew found in her in the nets and fished her in." She shook her head again. "There's no way she should still be alive."

"We didn't think she was, when we first pulled her in."

"I'm still amazed by her condition. There's nothing we can do for her, yet she's still hanging on."

"Have you been able to find out anything about her?"

The doctor shook her head yet again. "Nothing. The police have come up blank. No ships or airplanes have gone down in that area recently, except for yours. And there are no missing person reports that match her description."

Both were silent for a few moments. Jason broke it first. "Doctor, may I see her?" He'd been refused every time before, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"She's still in a coma, but..." She broke off as she considered the request. "I suppose it can't hurt. But only for a minute." She turned to lead the way to the intensive care ward.

"Thank you, Doctor." Jason followed as the doctor led him into the room and pulled aside the curtain.

The room was like every other hospital room he'd ever been in. The soft lighting, the sharp smell of antiseptic. A machine beeped softly. Looking at it, he saw a yellow line squiggling across a green screen. He wasn't quite sure exactly what it represented, but the fact that the line was squiggling somehow reassured him.

And then he saw the girl on the bed.

She looked just as he remembered, the red dress, the tanned golden skin, and the long black hair framing the beautiful face. She looked as if she was simply asleep instead of being at death's door, for all that there was a rubber tube going into a corner of her mouth, held in place by some adhesive tape. He was mildly surprised to see no tubes stuck into her arms; he remembered thinking that his grandmother looked like a porcupine --- or a chemistry experiment --- shortly before she passed away.

He approached the bed and reached out a hand, touching the back of hers. Her hand was dry and cool to the touch. Her skin was soft and smooth.

He looked at her face. For just a moment, he thought he saw her eyes flicker open.

Opening her eyes, all she saw was fog. Thick swirling fog.

The swirling fog began to take shape, coalescing into a darker mass. It continued to condense, until it solidified into a face.

A face that she recognized.

"Grandfather!" She struggled to get the single word out.

"What are you doing, child?" The mouth didn't move, but she could still hear his voice.

"Grandfather?"

"Get up, child! You've been sleeping long enough."

"But Grandfather..."

"A Prime does not sleep her life away, child."

"But Grandfather..."

"No excuses, child. Get up!"

"I can't, Grandfather."

"Get up!"

"Help me, Grandfather!" she cried out. She tried to reach for him, but her arms felt as if they were made of stone, refusing to move.

His face began to fade away, dissipating into the swirling fog until it faded away completely. Then the fog itself began to fade away, leaving her in blackness that seemed to stretch out to infinity.

"Wait, Grandfather!" she cried out again.

There was no response. There was nothing...

"Doctor! Her eyes!"

"What?"

"Her eyes! They opened for just a second."

Jason looked again at the face. But no, the eyes were closed. And from her reactions --- or lack of them --- it was plain that Doctor Simmons hadn't seen any change in her patient.

"I'm not an invalid!"

"I didn't say you were. No invalid can toss a caber the way you did."

"But you're implying it! I can do this job. You yourself said it was an easy one."

"I didn't say you couldn't do it. I just said you're still convalescing."

Tyreen Mackenzie flexed an arm --- her good one --- and waved a fist in his face. "I can make sure you'll need some convalescing."

John Bannon made no move to defend himself, knowing that it would be useless. "Whether your shoulder's completely healed or not, I know you can whip any ten men. But this is one where you can't go undercover. But I want you to cover my back for me."

She slowly lowered her arm as she considered his words. He was right, this job did require a man. Whatever else she could do, she wasn't very good at impersonating a man. Especially considering the clothing normally worn --- or not worn, as the case might be --- in Bermuda.

Then his last words struck her. "You... you want me to go with you?"

"That's what I said. Invalid or not, there's nobody else I'd rather have covering my back."

She answered that statement with one of her own, covering his lips with hers.

"But I want you to stay out of trouble," he told her when he came up for air.

"Let me have Tyreen to back me up. I can use all the muscle I can get."

"She's in Bermuda, but I'll get her for you. I'll send Chirren as well."

"But she's not..."

"Not for her muscles. But Marlen's known her longer than anybody else on Earth. And when Marlen wakes up, Chirren can speak her language. I don't think Tyreen can."

"You're right, for once." She spoke as wife to husband, not as subordinate to superior. "If it comes to a fight, Tyreen and I can't hope to beat Marlen."

He deigned not to notice the dig. "Exactly."

The swirling fog parted to reveal a building. There were more buildings, a line of low, squat buildings. She recognized the scene as the barracks at the Academy.

About a dozen teenaged girls were in front of one building, an older woman leading them through some calisthenics. As they finished their warmups, they formed up and marched toward the sea.

Apparently today's physical training session was only for half a day. A mile swim out to the breakwater and a mile back, then a hundred mile run through the desert. Returning to the barracks, they had plenty of time to clean up and change before lunch.

Not that lunch at the Academy was anything to look forward to. But at least this wasn't a long run, one in which they'd have to carry their rations with them.

She'd never particularly liked the physical training. It wasn't that she was bad at it; she did well enough. But she had always been more interested in the academic side of her education, especially the technical fields.

While she wasn't allowed to delve into them as far as the Betas were, she still spent most of her evenings alone in her room at the barracks studying and reading, while her classmates tended to pursue more physical activities.

And of course, their favorite physical activity was something that was not taught at the Academy. With the boys' barracks only a couple of miles away, it wasn't very difficult for a cadet from either side to go visit somebody on the other. And while such visits were officially forbidden, that particular regulation was seldom enforced --- as long as both parties were willing and they kept the activities discreetly out of sight.

One reason why she never partook of such activities was that she was a rarity among the girls in her class. She had been one of the few virgins at the start of the first year. For that she'd received some good-natured teasing from her classmates, who kept trying to get her and the other virgins to sneak out for a night with the boys.

By the end of the first year, she was the only virgin in the class.

It wasn't until her second year at the Academy that she finally relented and let one of the boys do it to her.

Selden was two years ahead of her, in his final year at the Academy. He had been helping her with a problem in tactics, one of her least favorite subjects. Somewhat uncharacteristic for a Prime, she'd always preferred the more technical subjects; she'd been at the top of her class in communications. Electronic communications, not the face-to-face variety. In addition to tactics, he was tutoring her in that as well, though she didn't know that at the time.

She and Selden were still at it when the chimes announced supper.

"Finally," she said, shutting off her workstation and standing up. She walked in place to work the kinks out of her legs. Raising her arms, she stretched them out over her head. "Ready to go eat?" she turned and asked him, her arms still over her head.

He didn't answer her with words, instead taking her in his arms and drew her body to his. Surprised, she was unable to do much more than start to open her mouth before he planted his lips on hers, forcing her mouth further open. His tongue darted into her mouth, pushing her tongue aside and exploring the inside of her mouth.

She'd never been kissed like this before. Tentatively, she poked her tongue into his mouth.

He pushed her back against the table and started forcing her down. She managed to separate their mouths. "No, please!" she gasped out. "Not here. We have to go to the mess hall."

"Too many people there. I've got everything I need right here," he said. He allowed her to stand up but kept an arm around her waist as he guided her to the door. He continued to keep his arm around her as he guided her on, but he did not guide her to the mess hall. Instead, he guided her down to the water's edge.

She didn't offer any resistance as he pushed her down to the sand. She felt a momentary twinge of anxiety when he began undressing her. She wasn't too surprised at his actions; she'd heard her classmates talking about the boys often enough. What did surprise her was the fact that she still wasn't offering any resistance.

At least, not until he got past the outer layer of her student uniform. When he started to work on the last layer, she pulled away from him and sat up. "Wait!" she said, putting her left hand to her chest and pushing herself away.

He tried to pull her to him again, but she moved away. "Come on, honey. You know you want it." He reached for her.

She did, oh Stars, how she did! But not like this. She'd always imagined that her first time would be special, very special. In a sumptuous bedroom, after a romantic evening. Not on a beach under open skies. "Can we take it slower?" she asked, reaching out for him with her right hand.

He took her hand and pulled her to him. Pressing his lips against hers, he pushed her down to the sand again.

She missed supper that evening. But when she returned to her room in the barracks and climbed into bed, she could not easily go to sleep. Alone, tossing and turning in her bunk, she kept feeling his hands on her body, his lips against hers.

They met again the next night, though this time it was after supper. They had both returned to their barracks for bed check, then sneaked out. He continued to further her education, though as with the previous evening's lesson, tonight's had very little to do with her tactics class.

For the first time in her life she had gotten beyond the kissing and cuddling stage with a boy, as she got to know him better than she had ever gotten to know a boy before. And he taught her things that she had never known about herself, about her own body.

She returned to her room at the barracks that night no longer a virgin. She was no longer a lonely girl away from home, but a woman.

The beach quickly became their favorite spot. They met there almost every night for the remainder of the year. He continued to tutor her in tactics and some of her other classes. But they both enjoyed what came afterwards a lot more.

Their final night together was the night before his graduation, and she never saw him again.

The fog swirled and condensed, hiding the beach from her sight.

Doctor Rachel Simmons was puzzled. By all rights the mystery patient should be dead. They'd been unable to introduce an intravenous feeding tube into her, so they'd been unable to feed her. Yet the girl showed no signs of wasting away. Her vital signs were low, but she gave the appearance of merely being in a deep sleep.

Nobody on the staff had seen anything like this before. She'd made some calls to the mainland, without getting anything definite. And somehow the word had apparently gotten to London. Somebody was coming over --- a military type --- but until then Rachel was to keep the patient under close observation.

The cryptic message from London had suggested restraints, but Rachel wasn't about to restrain a patient in a coma. Especially with gold chains or bands. And naturally the message hadn't come with any gold. Did London think that this hospital was awash in gold? As she walked she fingered the thin gold necklace around her neck, a gift from her parents upon her graduation from medical school. She was not about to sacrifice that, no matter what London might say.

Walking through the door, she checked in on her mystery patient again. Still no change in her vital signs.

The swirling fog was back. Again it condensed to form a man's face. A much younger face than before, it took her several moments to recognize it. He appeared just as he had the first time she'd seen him.

A young communications tech, on his first assignment. He was efficient, and he knew what he was doing. His biggest problem was that he didn't know that he knew what he was doing. His self-confidence needed a big boost.

She could remember how she had felt on her own first assignment.

She called him in for a little talk after his duty shift one day. Rather than having him meet her in her office, she'd called him into her quarters, thinking that the casual setting might put him more at ease. That may not have been the best thing to do, though things eventually turned out for the best.

She started out by giving him her prepared pep talk, just as she had learned at the Academy. She was about halfway into her speech when she noticed that he was fidgeting a little as he sat in his chair. His eyes were on her, but he would not meet her eyes.

She knew that at least part of his response was due to her pheromones. She'd always been careful to try to keep them under control. But it had been a while since she'd been with a man, since she'd actually had one. And she knew that it had been at least as long since he'd had a woman, since she was the only female on the station.

Her keen senses picked up the pounding of his heart and the scent of his pheromones. She'd never been affected by a Beta's pheromones before, but Stars, it had been a long time since she'd had a man. There was only one thing that she could do. She got up to her feet.

His eyes flicked down to her legs. His tongue moistened his lips. His heartbeat sped up.

She held out a hand toward him. "Come," she said quietly.

She didn't say it as a command, but as a Beta, he couldn't disobey a Prime. Not that he wanted to. He stood up and took a couple of tentative steps toward her.

She wasn't quite sure of what to expect. Primes weren't supposed to get intimate with Betas; the immense difference in strengths not only made it a hazardous proposition for the Beta, but it was also doubtful whether the Prime could get any enjoyment out of it.

She took his hand --- remembering to be gentle with the Beta --- and led him into her bedroom. He didn't resist her --- not that he could have if he'd wanted to --- when she pushed him down onto her bed and began removing his uniform.

There was a minor hitch when his Beta hands proved not to have enough strength to get her uniform off of her. That reminded her of the vast difference in their strengths; she almost ended it right then and there. But she was the one who had started it, now she had to finish what she had started.

She solved that particular problem by undressing herself before lying down next to him.

At first he had been hesitant, tentative. Almost as if he had been afraid of hurting her. As if a Beta could actually hurt a Prime with just his bare hands. A few words of encouragement took care of that. A little gentle pressure on the backs of his hands, pressing them against her breasts, helped. Still, his caresses were so light that she briefly wondered whether he was just teasing her, until she realized that he was indeed putting all of his Beta strength into it.

She was surprised to discover just how wonderful his light caresses felt. They were so light that it took her several seconds to realize that he was trying to push her legs apart.

Remembering how gentle Selden had been with her the first time, she parted her legs and gently positioned him between them. As ready as they both were, it still took several attempts before she could soften herself enough to allow him in.

Bearing in mind the need to be gentle with his fragile Beta body, she did no more than rest her arms on his back as he thrust himself into her and began pumping.

It was a soft, gentle pumping, so different from that of a Prime. Different, yet in some ways better, more enjoyable.

"Take good care of my daughter," he called out as his face started to dissolve.

"Come back!" she cried, to no avail. There was nothing left but fog. Soon even that was gone.

"Come back, Tyree!" she cried out again into the blackness.

It was hard to think of this as work. She'd had vacations that weren't half this good.

Bermuda! The sand and the surf! And the sun! The British Isles had nothing like this.

Even though it was an assignment, it was a relatively easy one, at least as such things went. And she was working with her favorite partner, John Bannon.

There was just one tiny fly in the ointment. Even though she was working with John, she really wasn't working with him.

Oh sure, she was seeing him every day. Just like today.

He was out on the patio, one hand wrapped around a tall cool drink. His other hand was wrapped around her hand.

That hand didn't belong to Tyreen Mackenzie. Instead it was attached to a shapely redhead.

It was completely unprofessional of her to feel jealousy, and she knew it. She'd had to seduce men on previous assignments; it was no different for the male operatives. But damn, he didn't have to act like he enjoyed it so much!

Of course, he did. He had to. Otherwise, the redhead would see right through the act.

Even as Tyreen watched, John said something to the redhead. She laughed in response. Tyreen wished that she had ears like Aunt Marlen. According to Uncle Michael and Aunt Vicky, Marlen could pick up a conversation from a hundred yards away.

The blackness lightened to reveal swirling mist. This time the swirling mist didn't clear completely. Instead it changed to snow. Blowing snow, drifting snow. Swirling snow.

And in the snow, the huddled forms of two people, a man and a woman. Both Betas.

She could see that the man was hurt, in desperate need of medical attention. But what could she do, here in the snow, without any medical equipment or supplies?

The woman looked up at her. "Help him," she pleaded.

The man's eyes fluttered open. His mouth moved, struggling to form words. "Help... me..."

"Tyree!" she called out, trying to reach for him.

Even though she couldn't move, he seemed to take strength from her effort. "Take good care of my daughter," he called out. Then his eyes rolled back into his head before closing. His head lolled back.

"Chirren!" She tried to reach for the woman, who was cradling the man's head in her lap.

Both of them started to fade away. "No! Come back!"

Her words had no effect. Both of them were swallowed up by the swirling snow. The snow darkened, leaving her in blackness again.

"No! Come back!" she cried out again.

There was no answer.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Tyreen rolled over and opened her eyes, bringing up a hand to shade her eyes from the glare. Blinking a couple of times, she saw a man --- a total stranger --- squatting down beside her.

He wasn't that unattractive, immaculately turned out in the tropical white uniform of the Royal Navy, the insignia of a lieutenant glittering on his shoulder boards. Under other circumstances, she might have been interested. She couldn't blame him for trying to pick up a girl on the beach. After all, many girls were impressed by a man in uniform.

But she wasn't in a position to be picked up. She was supposed to be keeping an eye on John Bannon and his contact, twenty yards down the crowded beach. She tried to find a polite way to tell him that she wasn't interested in his advances.

He sat down beside her before she could say anything. "You are Miss Tyreen Mackenzie?" he asked, lowering his voice.

How could he have known? She was supposed to be undercover. She started to open her mouth.

"You're wanted at Admiralty House," he continued before she could say anything.

So, this wasn't a personal pickup, but official business. Still, official or not, she had a job to do here and now. "I can't leave here, Lieutenant."

"Mister Dawson is covering for you." He at least had the sense not to point, only a slight jerk of his chin indicating the appropriate direction.

Under the pretense of adjusting her towel, Tyreen looked in the indicated direction to see one of her teammates laying out a towel on the sand, ready to keep an eye on John.

She stood up and started to gather her things together. "It's about time you came for me. Let's go have that drink you promised me," she said, a little louder than necessary. If anybody took any notice, they gave no sign.

She had to give him credit, he was quick on the uptake. "Splendid." He was also quick in standing up.

She slipped on a shirt over her swimsuit. His eyes followed her hands to her chest when she made to button it up. Thinking the better of it, she left it open and unbuttoned. She turned and waved at nobody in particular. Several people waved back.

Reaching down, she picked up the basket with the rest of her things and held it out to him. He took her basket in one hand and offered her the other arm. When she took it, he led the way up the beach to a waiting car and its driver. He introduced himself as they walked.

"What is it, Lieutenant Thompson?" she asked, once the driver had the car moving. "Why do they want me at the Admiralty House?"

"Priority message from MI5. Captain Hawthorne sent me to fetch you, and I was able to find Mister Dawson, and he was able to help me find you." There wasn't much more that he was able to tell her about the message.

Bermuda is a group of five connected islands. And not very large islands, at that. It wasn't very long before the driver pulled up in front of the Admiralty House. Thompson got out and held the door for her before leading her up the steps to the door.

The guard at the door ran his eyes down Tyreen's legs. He then ran them back up, lingering over her unbuttoned shirt on his way to her face, before saluting Thompson. Thompson returned the salute and pulled the door open for her.

After the beach, it was almost cold inside. That, and the guard's reaction, made her button up her shirt and wish that she had a little more clothing on.

Thompson led the way up the stairs and to the left along a long corridor. The faces of Nelson, Rodney, Fisher, and other admirals looked down on them from framed portraits on the wall.

At the end of the corridor, Thompson stopped and knocked on a door. "Captain Hawthorne, Miss Mackenzie is here."

"Send her in," the response came through the door.

Thompson opened the door, waited for her to step through, and then closed it behind her. Apparently, whatever Captain Hawthorne had for her was not for him.

A small round man with most of his white hair on the bottom half of his head stood up and walked around a conference table only marginally smaller than the flight deck of an aircraft carrier, holding a hand out to her. "Ah, welcome, Miss Mackenzie. I hope young Thompson didn't slobber over you too much."

She took his hand. "No, not at all, Captain. He was very proper."

"And how is Captain Sinclair and his lovely wife?"

"They were fine, the last time I saw them. You know them?"

"I served with him briefly a few times, right after the war."

If this round man had served with Michael Sinclair during the war, she was sure that it had been behind a desk. She was also sure that she hadn't been called in just for small talk. "Captain, would it be too forward of me to ask what this is all about?"

"Ah, of course, Miss Mackenzie." He gestured toward a seat at the table. "Tea?" He pointed to the silver service on the table.

"Coffee, if you have it, please."

"Certainly." He gestured to his aide, who disappeared and almost immediately reappeared with another silver pot.

"Thank you."

The captain poured for both of them. She declined the offer of sugar and cream. He then pushed a thick envelope across the table to her. "This just came in for you from Captain Sinclair, along with how we might contact you. And with further instructions for us."

Puzzled, she took the envelope and looked at it. It was still sealed.

She looked up at Captain Hawthorne. "If you'd like some privacy..." He started to stand up.

She waved a hand in dismissal. "Of course not, Captain. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" She picked up the letter opener that they had thoughtfully provided and opened the seal.

It only took a couple of minutes to read through the contents. She really didn't learn much.

One thing was for certain, however. She wasn't going to learn any more sitting here in the conference room drinking coffee. She put everything back into the envelope. "Captain, how quickly can you get me to Newfoundland?"

"The Royal Air Force should be getting a plane ready for you even as we speak."

"The RAF?"

"Apparently Captain Sinclair and MI5 managed to pull some strings. We could provide you with a nice leisurely cruise, but apparently somebody wants you there a little quicker."

"Apparently." She started to stand up. "Captain, if I could borrow your car and driver, I'd like to go to my hotel and pack."

He waved her back into her seat. "That's being taken care of."

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. "Captain Hawthorne," Lieutenant Thompson's voice came through the door, "Miss Adams is here."

"Fine. Send her in."

Connie Adams, another one of her teammates, came in carrying Tyreen's suitcase. "What's this all about, Tyreen?"

"I'm not sure, Connie. Captain Sinclair's sending me to Canada."

"Is that where it is? I packed up everything you had, but you might need some warmer things."

"I'll have to make do with what I wore back home." And if her mother was really meeting her there, then hopefully she would have brought some additional things for her. Though the cold did bother her Arion constitution as much as it would a Terran.

"We'll take you to the air base when you're ready," Captain Hawthorne said, coming to his feet. He waved to a door. "You can change in there."

Remembering her current state of dress, Tyreen took her suitcase from Connie and went through the door. She emerged a couple of minutes later dressed in a cotton shirt and a pair of blue jeans. She had a light jacket slung over her shoulder.

"I hope you and Dawson don't have to work too hard to cover for me," she told Connie.

"We'll manage," Connie replied. "Just keep yourself warm, and get back to us as soon as you can."

"I will, Connie." The two women embraced briefly.

Lieutenant Thompson accompanied Tyreen to the car. And beyond, he personally drove her to the airbase.

They were met there by the pilot, a squadron leader who introduced himself as Campbell. "I'm afraid it's not the most comfortable thing we have, but it'll get you there faster than anything else we have." He then led the way to the flight line.

The plane was waiting on the runway. The camouflage paint did nothing to hide the sleek lines of the delta-winged craft. Just sitting on the runway, it looked fast.

Tyreen immediately recognized it as a Vulcan, bomber that had entered service not too long ago. "Didn't know you had any of these stationed here," she remarked.

"The wing's been here about a year." Campbell looked over at Tyreen. "Though I've got to admit, this will be my first passenger flight. This isn't our usual line of work, you understand."

"Certainly, Squadron Leader. And I'll admit, I've always wanted to fly in one of these."

"She's a sweet bird, I'll tell you that. And you can drop the 'Squadron Leader' stuff. I'm Jack."

"Okay, Jack. I'm Tyreen. And I'll bet she is sweet. And she's supersonic, isn't she?"

"Not quite. But if you really want to go supersonic, I'll get out and push."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Jack."

Campbell introduced the rest of his crew. "We're going to leave the bomb aimer behind to make room for you."

After donning a flight suit, she shown aboard. "I'm afraid a bomber's not the most comfortable way to fly, Miss," the copilot said as he helped Tyreen strap in.

"Quite all right." She looked around. "Better than flying in the bomb bay, I believe."

He chuckled at her response. "That it is, Miss, that it is. Not that I've ever flown in there." He chuckled again as he tightened the straps. "If you're in a real hurry to get back down on the ground, we could probably let you out that way."

"No, I don't believe that would be necessary. Thank you for the offer, though."

"Anything I can do to help out the Navy, Miss." He grinned before going forward to his own seat.

Squardron Leader Jack Campbell came back and told her what to do in case of an emergency, and then gave her the brief run-down on the routine flight procedures, which in the case of the passenger basically amounted to "Don't touch anything." She refrained from telling him that her mother had helped to design some of the communications gear in the craft.

The flight wasn't that bad --- she'd been in much more uncomfortable places before. Once they were in level flight, she could unstrap herself and study the files that she had received at the Admiralty House.

She didn't have any actual memories of Aunt Marlen; she'd been much too young. She'd seen a few pictures of her. Not many had been taken of her, due to wartime security.

She gradually became aware of her surroundings, the strange sounds and smells impinging on he senses first. She lay motionless, trying to sort out what her senses were telling her. She wracked her mind, searching out her memories.

There had been her defeat at the hands of the Arion Marine. Being taken aboard a submarine while shackled with gold. And then another boat.

Finally opening her eyes, she slowly looked around. The room was dark, filled with the soft hum of machinery and the acrid smell of chemicals and disinfectants. She gradually made out the form of instruments banked alongside her, sensor probes of various kinds attached to her body.

The realization struck her. She was being held in some kind of scientific laboratory! She was being treated as a lab animal, something for them to study, to analyze. To dissect!

She tried to sit up, only to find some restraints across her body and limbs. One leather band snapped as she lifted an arm. Thank the Stars! If they were going to restrain her, why weren't they using gold? She quickly freed her other limbs from their restraints and then removed the probes from her skin. She was just climbing off the bed when she heard the tread of approaching footsteps. Quickly gaining her feet, she hid behind a fold of the curtain screening the bed.

The door opened quietly on well-oiled hinges. There was a single set of footsteps entering the room.

There still wasn't any change in the status of her mystery patient. That was about all Dr. Rachel Simmons could tell the young fisherman, Jason Reed, when he came in again.

She was beginning to like the youngster, who came in every day when his boat was not at sea. She had nothing against fishermen; her grandfather had been one. Too bad this man was a bit too young for her; her parents still nagged her about finding a husband. And of course, he had obviously fallen for the mystery patient. Unfortunately for him, since she had received the directive from London, she couldn't let him in to see the patient.

Rachel was still thinking about the puzzling patient as she left the young man in the lobby and approached the patient's room. She still didn't know what was keeping 'Mary Doe' alive. Nor did she know what London wanted with her. Thus distracted, it took her a few seconds to realize that the bed was empty. The leather restraints that she'd used to strap down the patient's arms and legs were cut.

No, a closer inspection showed that they had been broken. But what --- or who --- could have done it? One of the nurses at their station out in the corridor would have told her if anybody had come in here. In confusion, she looked around the room.

The light came on. There was a soft rustle of cloth as a hand grasped the curtain and started to push it aside. A face quickly followed. A woman's face.

She felt a moment of panic upon seeing the golden hair on the woman's head. What was she to do? She considered going out the window behind her but immediately rejected the idea. The glass breaking would make too much noise, alerting the Velorian. And while she was falling helplessly, the Velorian would be free to use her flight abilities to recapture her. No, she couldn't escape out the window.

Not having been trained in unarmed combat as a Warrior Prime, she normally would not have stood and fought a Velorian Planetary Protector. Not voluntarily. Having no choice however, she did the only thing that she could do.

She would have to rely on the element of surprise and hope that it would give the edge necessary to defeat the Velorian. Even as the Velorian looked around for her, she left her hiding place and struck. Getting her arms around the Velorian from behind, she tried to bear her opponent to the floor. She was surprised at how easily she was able to bear her down to the floor.

It was too easy in fact, but she didn't dare to take the time to think about that. Instead, she tightened her arm around the blonde's throat, at the same time twisting the head. There was a muffled CRACK as the neck snapped.

She had done it! She had killed the Velorian Planetary Protector! Her first confrontation with one of the blonde bitches, and she had emerged victorious!

But was there only one Protector on this planet? Some planets had more. And if any of them came looking for their comrade...

She needed to get out of here. She also needed to try to cover her escape, to try to delay the pursuit as much as possible. With that thought in mind, she picked up the body of the dead Velorian and laid it on the bed.

As she laid the body on the bed, she felt her fingertips tingle. Rolling the body over to determine the cause, she saw a thin metal chain around the woman's neck. So that was why she had been able to defeat the Velorian so easily.

But why had she been wearing gold? Unless...

Of course! The Velorian was so much stronger than were the people around her. The bitch was wearing the gold so that she could avoid killing her sexual partners. She herself had occasionally worn gold in her play with the Betas under her command.

Leaving the chain alone for the time being, she began on the woman's clothes. Fortunately for her, the two of them were close enough in size. She quickly finished stripping the other woman of her clothes, a white coat over a pale blue blouse and a pair of dark blue slacks. Removing her own red uniform --- which she now noticed that they hadn't bothered to take from her --- she put on the other woman's clothes. A bit tight in the chest and a bit loose in the waist, but it was tolerable. The shoes however wouldn't fit, so she retained her own.

Laying the woman on the bed, she pulled the sheets over her. Tightly rolling her uniform into a small bundle, she tucked it into a pocket. As she did so, her fingers brushed across something attached to the outside of the pocket.

Taking it off, a quick examination revealed a small plastic rectangle with the woman's picture on it. Realizing that it was an identification device of some kind, she put it back on with the picture turned in.

Silently she walked to the door. She listened carefully but heard no signs of alarm. She didn't hear anything else, either, besides the gentle hum of the machinery. Cautiously poking her head out the door, she looked around.

She saw a long institutional corridor, with doors branching off it at regular intervals along both sides. She could hear the soft murmur of conversation from one of the other rooms. She was in the room on the end. There was a single door at this end of the corridor.

Such doors usually led outside. But were their guards outside? She closed the door and retreated back into the room. What was she to do now? Was there another way out?

As she looked around the room, her eyes fell on the bed and the covered body of the dead Velorian. On impulse she pulled back the sheets and removed the gold chain. Not wanting to touch it any more than was absolutely necessary, she quickly put it into a pocket.

Without any further thought, she went back to the door. Quietly opening it, she stepped out into the corridor to the door on the end and stepped through.

She found herself in a dimly lit stairwell. From the window in her room, she knew that she was several floors above ground level. She cautiously headed down, continuing to make as little noise as possible.

The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed and locked. Grasping the knob and giving it a quick twist of her wrist took care of that.

Pulling open the door, she stepped across and found herself in the boiler room. She had gone down one flight too many and was now in the basement, a fact she quickly realized. Retracing her path, she ascended one flight and stopped on the landing.

The door here wasn't locked. Again cautiously poking her head out the door, she looked around.

It was night outside, which suited her just fine. Not wanting to draw undue attention to herself, she walked away at a brisk pace.

She was surprised at the amount of traffic on the street. There were more cars than she could ever remember seeing before. And they looked so different from what she was used to. She didn't notice that they were driving on the other side of the road from what she was used to.

It didn't take her long to get down to the harbor, all she had to do was to follow her nose. There were a number of small craft, and a lot of people swarming around them. All men.

No way for her to slip unobtrusively into that crowd. She would have to find some other way to get away from here. Looking further out over the water, she saw a much larger ship moving toward the harbor mouth.

She didn't care where it was going, all she cared was that it was going away from here. She made her way along the waterfront, toward the harbor mouth.

Soon she was away from the populated section of the waterfront. Picking up her pace, she ran along the rocky beach to the end of the point that separated the harbor from the open sea.

It was a simple matter to get aboard the ship, swimming out to it and hauling herself hand over hand up the anchor chain when nobody was looking. Once aboard, it wasn't much harder to open the fastenings on a cargo hatch. Lifting up the cover, she slid inside and went below into the cargo hold.

The hold stank of fish, but she was in no position to complain. Moving some crates around to make herself a little space and removing her wet clothes, she laid them out to dry as best they could. Huddling in a corner with her arms around her knees, she let the gentle lapping of the waves on the hull lull her to sleep.

Vicky Sinclair had always thought Scotland's climate unfortunate, not that London's had been all that much better. But compared to the weather that Newfoundland enjoyed --- or rather, didn't enjoy --- Scotland might as well have been the earthly paradise. And this was in the middle of the summer. And especially considering that a few short hours earlier, she'd been in the relatively mild --- compared to this --- climate of London.

A look quick at a map had confirmed that they were actually quite a bit south of London. Schoolchildren learned about what the Gulf Stream did for Britain's climate, but she'd never had to think about it outside of school till now.

She realized that she'd been spoiled. After Germany, most of her husband's overseas postings had been to the southern parts of Europe. The French Riviera, Italy, even Greece. Even though the cold didn't bother her as much as it would have an ordinary person, she still was happy that she didn't have to live here.

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