Forever's Not Enough (Galactic League of Planets) Read online

  “The Meline people thank the UC board once again for their patience and diligence in this matter. Before I begin, I have some reports I’d like to have distributed if I…”

  “Princess, I see no need for reports,” the chairman’s voice dripped with impatience. “Just more Meline propaganda, if you ask me. I think we all know…”

  No, I have no problem whatsoever with killing this man.

  “Mr. Chairman, I apologize for interrupting,” she returned, and she drummed her nails on the hardwood table top impatiently. “But I believe I’ve been recognized by this board, and by law have a right to finish my plea.”

  She unblinkingly stared the chairman into submission, and smiled inwardly when he waved his hand and barked, “Well! Get on with it then!”

  Picking up the stack of papers with her left hand, she started around the corner of the table and allowed herself one last selfish moment as she enjoyed the gentle purr in her chest.

  Two strides later, right hand slipped inside her robe where her fingers found the end of her lightstick, she tugged gently.

  Then everything seemed to slow down and jump out at her in close relief.

  Just as she made it to the head of the table, her eyes swept the space around the chairman. Empty but for the woman that had come in late and opened the meeting. She looked into the woman’s eyes and read concern.

  She heard the boardroom doors open with a loud bang and saw concern turn to urgency, and looked away from the woman.

  Then she heard heavy boots running just as she turned the corner of the table and raised her stack of papers to place them in front of the chairman. Finding the man’s eyes, she saw him looking down the long table and saw fear.

  Pulling the lightstick into the open just as she turned her head to see what was happening, she saw two Marines, one on each side of the long table, weapons up and pointed, running toward her.

  She turned back to the chairman just as a shot rang out and the man’s head exploded in a shower of blood and bone.

  She froze, and out of the corner of her eye she caught Crenshaw jumping to his feet, his hand digging inside his jacket.

  Her head jerked back and she looked at the Marines a second time. This time she saw him, and in her excitement, her lightstick slipped from her fingers.

  The movie moved so slow in her head that it was all a swirl of bodies floating around her in freefall. His jaw was set and his soft gentle eyes took on an edge. She marveled at the strength in his arm as he raised a small shiny handgun and carefully, even patiently, took aim.

  With the next shot another head exploded halfway down the table.

  She found his eyes and when he looked up she smiled. His mouth moved, his lips angry curls, and he looked past her.

  Then another shot and the Marine on the other side of the table, the one she didn’t know, fell.

  A hand on her arm and she spun to find Crenshaw’s face inches from hers. Her lightstick gone, she struck with the only weapon left and took pleasure in his grimace as her nails raked across his face leaving bloody furrows in their wake.

  Another shot, another board member died.

  He was at her side, his face twisted in rage, his weapon raised, a shot rang out and Crenshaw’s head exploded.

  His arm was around her waist and he was dragging her. Her purr was deep and constant, and in the midst of bedlam, she smiled contentedly and raked her fingers through the hair on his bare arm.

  The woman behind the chairman was on her feet, a gun in hand, and another board member’s chest erupted in a deep crimson bloom beneath his starched white shirt.

  Hill was hugging her to his body and running back down the long table.

  Then she saw the wicked black barrel of someone else’s gun come up and point. She couldn’t let it happen, she couldn’t let her one true love, her mate for life, die at the hands of her enemy.

  Pulling on his big hand she twisted from behind the protective shield his arm and stepped to the right just as the angry black barrel glowed with a burst of super heated plasma that tore into her chest and Peenzan, Princess of Meline and loving mate to a simple earthling, thanked Bast for making her quick enough to save him.

  She managed to look up one last time and smile into his eyes before the life left her own.

  * * * *

  Hill watched the proceedings without interest and listened without hearing. It had no meaning. Nothing had any meaning. No matter who he asked, God or Peenzan’s beloved Bast, he found no meaning to any of it.

  He’d sat in a cell for two days and thought. Not empty thoughts, not thoughts of escape or revenge. He didn’t even contemplate his own death, which he was sure, would come quickly.

  He thought of her, of his Peenzan, and spoke with her quietly.

  The guard’s D ran incessantly and he was, once again, the center of attention throughout the galaxy. His stature had gone from mere terrorist to mastermind. Given the death of Radd and Lucy, he knew they needed someone’s face to put behind the heinous deed.

  And now he sat shackled to the floor watching a bunch of bureaucrats argue over whether he should be tried on UC-1 or shipped back to earth. He knew it had nothing to do with jurisdiction, or for that matter, what the law might dictate. It was all about media coverage. Where could the Corporation get the most favorable media coverage?

  He hadn’t seen her come in, and when Pran caught his eye and smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back. It wasn’t his Princess, but it was a Meline and it made him happy.

  Then it was over. He had no idea what had been decided and didn’t care. His shackles were released from the floor and two guards poked him until he moved toward the back of the room where he’d be rushed off and locked up.

  Just before he got to the exit, he felt a hand on his forearm and looked down to find a smiling Pran being shoved away.

  “Not worry, all be okay.”

  He smiled at her accented English and trudged through the doors into the relative quiet of the holding area.

  Once safe in his cell, his shackles removed, he lay on the scratchy wool blanket that covered his bunk and stare at the ceiling, conjuring her image in the smudges and scratches he found there.

  Late at night, when the guard finally turned off his D, propped his feet on his table, and let his head nod against his chest, he would hear her laughing and whispering softly to him.

  “You mustn’t worry, my love.”

  He’d smile and listen again. He knew what she’d say next. She always said the same things.

  “You must come to me, my love. You must bring your heart to me.”

  “Yes,” he’d whisper, “I’ll be there soon.”

  Then, sometime between the shadows of the night that never fell on a beam-ship, and the first glimmer of sol, that, in kind, never warmed his face, he’d make himself go to sleep just because he knew she was waiting there for him. There in his dreams.

  Then, on the twentieth day, comfortable in the certainty of his routine, everything changed.

  * * * *

  The first hint of change came across his guard’s D when the United News Service broke the story. A scandal like none ever seen before in the history of the Corporation. A Machiavellian plot that would have left even Machiavelli blushing.

  The facts were sketchy, as was often the case when the tip of the iceberg popped into view, and an audit was underway of all internal documents and communications for the last ten years sent by the Corporation’s Chairman and its board members.

  Tales of corruption and lavish living at the expense of the Corporation’s people, wild sex parties and Rangdon spice, deceit and injustice abounded.

  One thing was certain—nine of ten member planets of the Galactic Union of Trade and Investigation had voted to deny membership to its most powerful member and founding state—the United Corporation of Earth.

  A quiet rebellion headed by the united front of the Meline and Zandill people was sweeping the galaxy that called for non-compliance of all Corp
oration contracts.

  Hill sat on his bunk and smiled, and later that night when his dreams finally came, he enjoyed telling Peenzan what was happening.

  * * * *

  “Well, don’t you look like shit!”

  Hill looked up to find the Premier of Zandill standing in full regalia smiling down at him, Peenzan’s aunt on his arm.

  The gentle sound of her soft purr made him want to cry. Instead he jumped to his feet and found a smile.

  “Damn,” he shot back, finding a strange joy at having a visitor, any visitor. “Look what the cat drug in.”

  Stepping to the bars, he reached through and shook Zad’s hand. Then, when the man raised his left hand and hit his chest, Hill mirrored the traditional Zandill greeting and managed a smile.

  “So, what brings you to a Corporation stronghold? I hear you and everyone else in the galaxy are fighting the bastards.”

  Zad chuckled. “Ah, the galaxy is changing, son, and I’m here to make sure all the work done by some very brave people does not go to waste. We must never forget.”

  Hill was glad. Glad that the deaths of so many, including Radd and Lucy, but most of all his Peenzan, was not in vain. And he glanced at Peenzan’s aunt and said so. “She was very brave and I’m glad it all served a purpose.”

  “Zanctu!” The Zandill equivalent of bullshit sounded more like a sneeze than a curse when Zad barked it out. “You’re not glad about any of this! And I don’t blame you!”

  Before Hill could say anything else, Zad had turned and was barking orders at the guard. When the door of his cell swung open, he stood and stared in disbelief.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? You can’t be a king from inside a jail cell!”

  * * * *

  The sun’s caress was warm and dried the chiming water that clung to his skin quickly. When Pran stepped up and offered him a robe, he smiled and asked, “Now what?”

  He wasn’t overjoyed, but had found a kind of happiness on Meline, living in the castle, sleeping in her bed, and walking among her people.

  The changes had been swift and cut a wide swath through the galaxy. By, in a sense, a hostile takeover, the corporation had been disbanded. All off-planet corporation assets had been given to the Meline and Zandill people by way of compensation, who in turn, had immediately returned all of it to the people of earth. But there were a few conditions.

  One had been his immediate release and exoneration of all charges of crimes and treason against the people of earth, and another had been the creation of a steering committee made up of one representative from each known populous planet in the galaxy that would oversee the creation of a new democracy and the assignment of new leadership on earth.

  “You must come with me,” Pran replied.

  As she started off through the yellow grass of Meline, her back-fall swishing around her ankles, he imagined, if only for a moment, that Peenzan was showing him the way.

  Peenzan’s aunt had explained that no matter what happened to Peenzan, he was still her Bast chosen mate, and as such, was now part of Meline royalty and would someday become King.

  He didn’t know if he would go through with it, but it made the queen and king smile when he’d accepted the title of Prince of Meline, and he knew Peenzan would be happy, too.

  When they crested a small hill behind the castle and stepped into a meadow of flowers of every color imaginable, he stared in awe.

  “Now you pick.”

  Her English wasn’t perfect and he still had trouble understanding her at times.

  “What? All of them?”

  Pran looked impatient, planted her hands on her hips, and said, “No, you silly human. Pick some. Just … how you say, antran?”

  When he stared, his lack of comprehension obvious, she spoke to him like she would a child. “Pick just flower that remind you of her.”

  They were beautiful and he couldn’t understand why he needed to kill them by picking them. “But why?”

  Now Pran looked thoroughly pissed, “Is custom. Meline custom. Our people do this. You Meline Prince now. You do this.”

  The sun was bright and a soft breeze brought the fragrance to him. He could think of no better way of discovering Meline than picking flowers for Peenzan.

  Walking along the edge, he was struck by a royal blue blossom with three petals and bright red pistols standing proudly in the middle, and picked it.

  A little further along the edge of the meadow he found a jade green blossom with eight willowy pedals that drooped long and low. A small pink button in the middle shined like lacquer.

  “No!”

  He looked back and saw Pran waving. Holding the flower up he yelled, “But I’ve already picked it!”

  Pran rolled her eyes and said, “Okay. Okay. Is good. But you go middle. No just flowers outside. Look at all flowers. Every one.”

  Every flower? He looked across the meadow and decided there must be more than five thousand, no, ten thousand flowers growing in the small plot. How could he look at all of them?

  When he looked back at Pran, he saw that refusal was not an option. Taking a first step into the field, he started searching the face of every flower.

  First one, then another, joined his first selections. Then he saw another ten feet away that seemed to call to him. In thirty minutes, he could no longer carry his bundle of flowers and walked to where Pran was ever vigilant, dropped his selections at her feet, and noticed a faint smile of approval.

  Four hours later, the meadow completely destroyed from his wanderings and stompings, he had a bundle of flowers the size of Pran stacked beside her.

  When he stopped and wiped his brow, looking across the sad state of the meadow, Pran asked, “You done now, human?”

  He could see nothing noteworthy still standing. He had no idea what the custom was about, but he had to admit it had become fun.

  “I guess so.” And he shrugged. Hell, he didn’t know.

  Pran turned and started off. “Come. Bring flowers.”

  Bring flowers? How was he going to carry all these flowers? In a moment of inspiration, he pulled his robe off and threw it on the ground. Scooping up flowers, he dropped them on his robe, and when they’d all been moved, he pulled the robe together, and naked, picked up the bundle and prepared to walk back to the castle.

  And there it was. A very small six petaled flower, white with a bright golden center that looked like molten gold. Stooping, he grabbed the small flower, brought it to his nose, smiled, and stuck it behind his ear. Whistling, he set off for the castle.

  When he crested the small hill, he saw Pran standing halfway to the castle, obviously upset with his dalliance. He just smiled because he knew that would piss her off more and kept walking.

  Finally, standing in the middle of Peenzan’s bedroom, he dropped the bundle and wiped his brow.

  Pran rolled her eyes and pointed at the black stone extrusion they called a birthing table. “Bast no have patience with silly humans. You put flowers there. Not on floor.”

  He didn’t care. He knew that most of Pran’s disfavor was show and he enjoyed getting her ire up.

  The temptation was too great. He knew what she’d say before he’d said it. “You know, I’m sweaty and tired. I think I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “No! You do now! Tonight night. Do now!”

  Hiding his smile, he feigned defensive anger and said, “Okay! Okay! I’ll do it!”

  He almost laughed when she walked back and forth with each and every bundle of flowers until the birthing table was stacked high with color and fragrance. Stepping back he stared in wonder at his small offering.

  “Now…” and Pran stopped mid sentence, walked up and inspected his head. With a cluck of disapproval, she plucked the small white flower from behind his ear and put it in his palm.

  “I tell you all flowers. Now put.” And she pointed.

  One more sniff of its luscious fragrance, and with the utmost care, he ceremoniously placed the last flower at the very t
op of his collection. Stepping back, he brushed his hands and smiled and said, “There. All the flowers.”

  Pran walked around and carefully inspected the colorful stack. Pushing here and prodding there, she finally stepped back and said, “Good. Now you bath. You stink like human.”

  * * * *

  Pran had made sure he’d gotten into the chiming pool and left mumbling something in Meline.

  He floated and splashed and thought of Peenzan with each soft chime the amber liquid made. Looking at the low stone bench beside the pool, he recalled that night that now seemed like years ago when she’d explained about love as the Meline saw it.

  “You see, that’s where your species has made a mistake. They’ve brought judgment and logic into something that has nothing to do with either. You humans plot and think and wonder why. You try to make love a question, when in fact, there is no question in love. There is only feeling. Love is a matter of heart, not a question of the mind.

  Yes, he decided, stepping out of the pool. Only heart. And I have you here, and his hand came up and touched lightly between his breasts.

  And no, you don’t have to know why the sky is blue to enjoy it. He smiled.

  “Now eat. You need much strength.”

  Pran swept into the room with a tray piled high with food. He entertained the idea of refusing just to hear her curse him, but instead sat obediently at Peenzan’s desk and let Pran watch over him while he ate every scrap of food she served up.

  Pushing back from the desk he rubbed his bare stomach and said with a hint of rebellious mockery, “Food good. More. I want more.”

  Pran looked from the empty tray to his slightly swollen belly before she realized he was teasing her. “You see! Silly human. Bast no like fun today. Bast may not listen you.”

  No, he guessed not. He was, in fact, only human.

  The light through the high window was turning a dark azure color and he knew the sun was fading. Another night with his dreams, or more importantly, another night with her, his Peenzan.