Danielle L. Parker

by Danielle L. Parker

Table of Contents
Chapter 5
Chapter 6 part 1
Chapter 6 part 2
appear in this issue.

Chapter 7

The walk-in freezer room was not the best place to meet someone, but at least it was private. Dorn, shivering in the frosty temperature, walked around the hanging slabs of beef to help his superior officer carry out an armload of wrapped hamburger.

“I’m not fond of the night shift,” Patrick Terhune muttered, using his knee on the handle to open the metal door, “but at least it’s cooler. And private enough, thank goodness.” He braced his back against the metal door to allow his taller companion to pass. “I’m not exactly learning haute cuisine, but,” he sighed as he followed, “I’m not bad at frying hamburger patties now, either.”

The kitchen, starkly clean and functional in its stainless steel and white enamel, was indeed empty. Dorn smiled as he looked at his commanding officer. Terhune’s fiery red hair was wrapped in an incongruous hairnet, and for the first time Dorn had known him, he was clean-shaven. It was almost an unfamiliar face, with that sharp red beard gone.

Terhune, dumping his armload on the counter to re-load into the smaller kitchen freezer, followed the directions of those thoughts and scowled. “I almost didn’t know myself,” he agreed in resignation. “First time in twelve years my chin has been naked. But someone found a red hair in his soup. I was the only possible culprit, so off the beard came.” He shook his head in disgust.

Dorn, moving to help with the hamburger patties, smiled. That smile faded slowly. After a moment he said, “I suppose you’re feeling it now too.”

“Impending doom,” Terhune murmured ironically. “Time’s running out, for us and for them. I’m glad I’m taking your young friend away tomorrow. The news is they haven’t been able to push back the Sinoasians. Unless the tides of war change in Union favor, it may be three weeks or less, Dorn, before this base is overrun.”

He paused, giving his companion a sharp glance. “You and Martin may have to make a fast get-away. You know where the sled and splat guns are hidden. Don’t cut it too fine.” The senior agent grimaced. “They’ve plans to blow up this base with a bomb if it comes under direct attack. I know we’re radiation-hardened, but none of us can stand to be too close to that. That sled has a top speed of 170 mph; carrying all three of us, if it has to, it’ll be a slug. It’s over eighty miles just to the nearest range of hills.”

“I don’t suppose it will carry the Breckinridges either,” Dorn said quietly. “They don’t know how close their end is, of course.”

Terhune could feel the sadness in his sense. The red-haired man paused in a moment of silent sympathy. He said gently, “It won’t help them if you tell them. There’s no place they can really escape to, and Michael Breckinridge is clearly under a lot of strain already. He’s desperate enough to still seriously consider the option of opening that wormhole. We can’t risk pushing him further in that direction.” He glanced at his teammate soberly. “You took a chance, Dorn.”

The blond man shrugged. “He’ll hold. They’re grateful for what we’re doing for their daughter.” He leaned against the counter, watching Terhune’s deft activities. “I wonder,” he added after a moment, “whether it was really coincidence that they targeted Demeter Five first. It’s clearly the same world that the alien on Europa came from.”

“Can’t say.” Terhune shook his head, neatly aligning round buns on his huge tray. “I admit I’ve had the same thought. But Demeter Five is the obvious first choice, all the same. It’s one of the most easily spotted Earth-type worlds. Epsilon Three, as they call it, is further away. That’s not to say,” Terhune opened the oven door to insert his pan of hamburger buns, “that there might not be another alien here too with an interest in this project. So far, I haven’t detected anything like the Comte, and neither has the Golem.” He shrugged. “Although RISH seems to be having more difficulty penetrating MWB-11 than it did Europa, so I’d not consider that possibility eliminated yet. And it has a far greater number of targets to examine here too.”

Dorn nodded. “I’m not sure why, but I have to really strain to make any contact with RISH from here. Its presence is pretty faint.” The psionic intelligence called RISH, with its monstrous power, could indeed reach across the unimaginable divide between the alternate Earths, but even for that fearful being, such was not easy. “I would have expected it to be easier to reach here than from Europa, but for some reason it isn’t.” He frowned.

“The difference is,” Terhune bent to check the oven gauge, “you haven’t had the time or opportunity to work with it since you came here. RISH is feeling its way, and with all the electronic and magnetic activity on this world, something may well be interfering with its reach. Although it’s learned quite a bit from the ex-Comte.” He wiped his hands on a towel, hanging the cloth back on the oven door. “I wish we had someone with your talent to work with it right now. We could really use RISH or one of its peers on this mission.”

Dorn said bitterly, “You might ask if His Grace the Duke of Albourne is willing to forego his latest trip to the opera or his country house to help. He was as good at talking to RISH as I am.”

Terhune tactfully avoided looking at his scowling companion. He could not pretend to be unaware of the flash of deep hurt and resentment Dorn’s emotions revealed, but after a moment, the younger agent’s usual self-control slowly reasserted itself, even if his mood remained bleak.

The aristocrat Dorn referred to, resident of the world of Europa, had in fact neatly cut Dorn out with his former fiancé. That formidable gentleman had not hesitated to play what even Terhune had to admit was dirty pool in order to eliminate his romantic rival. Dorn’s sheltered Academy upbringing had not, in many ways, equipped him as yet to deal with someone of the Duke’s ruthlessness and shrewdness. It was, Terhune thought privately, a lesson in life that in some ways Dorn needed, painful as it clearly was. It was a rough universe out there, and one could not expect all opponents to play by the nobler rules taught on Soltri. Dorn had needed someone to shake him out of that dangerous complacency.

“I think we can brew some coffee,” Terhune murmured, turning to that task. “Thank goodness we don’t have to subsist on Europa’s constant bitter tea any longer.” He shuddered.

Dorn, all too well aware of his momentary emotional nakedness, turned grimly away. He said, “I suppose I’d better make my way back after we have your coffee. You’ll be getting a visitor soon anyway. Have a safe trip, Terhune, and,” he paused, “take good care... take good care of Sammy. She’s a good kid.”

Terhune, watching the pot filling, punched the stop button and poured for them both. He said quietly, his blue eyes fixed tactfully on his task, “Jirel loves you, you know.”

“I’m sure the Duke will make a good husband for her.” Dorn’s averted profile was white, and his lips were set tightly. “I blew it, Patrick. I just plain out blew it.”

“I suppose you did, Dorn. It’s easy to make mistakes when you’re only nineteen. That goes for Jirel too.” Terhune paused. “Although I’m not so sure she will marry this Duke either. You’re both young. Give yourselves time.” He carefully considered his next words. “I know how you feel,” he added cautiously, his gaze pointedly averted to the coffee pot. “But you’ve got to get over it, Dorn. Your emotions are not helping you now.”

His companion said nothing. Terhune, from the corner of his eye, saw his hand reaching almost unconsciously to the chain at his throat. Dorn still carried that photo of Jirel under his shirt, and as much as Terhune sympathized, he wished Dorn would set that reminder aside. He could not exactly suggest it, but a brief encounter with some anonymous and libidinous female companion might do Dorn good right now. Dorn was still badly hurt, and his anger and guilt at his own mistakes in that failed romance were not helping him.

“Eventually,” Dorn said at last. His voice was raw. “We had so little chance, Patrick. One time only... just one. I wish I hadn’t taken so much for granted.” He drained his cup, after a moment of silent withdrawal, and turned to set it firmly on the counter.

“Goodnight, Terhune,” he said quietly. “Thanks for the coffee and... the advice. Have a safe trip, and I’ll see you when you get back. I’ll look after Martin.”

Patrick Terhune sighed. “Keep your eyes open,” he advised a little sadly. “And Dorn,” he looked into his fellow Soltrian’s blue eyes, “Don’t let that wormhole be opened, at any cost. That, as you know, is an official order. Remember our late unlamented friend the Comte! This could get a lot worse than it is if they open that passage to Demeter Five. That could mean risk to Soltri as well as your friends the Breckinridges.”

Dorn nodded, his emotions for a moment as cold as Terhune’s own. He too knew what the Golem had learned from the alien it had captured and eventually destroyed. The Soltrian senior agent, very sober, watched that tall figure thread through the empty kitchen to the door. Ducking instinctively from old habit as he passed beneath the lintel, the young man closed the door behind him.

Terhune, frowning, turned to attend to his next tray of hamburger buns. He was getting sick of his temporary career, but at least, the head cook had mentioned he might be able to move on to hot dog buns tomorrow. With a wry shake of his head, he pulled out another pan.

To be continued...