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  But to her appalled shock, Ben shouted past her to Kào. “To you we’re animals in a zoo. Have some fun with the monkeys. Get us all worked up over a banana and then take them away. Those laptops were ruined and you knew it—”

  “Mr. Kathwari!” Jordan shouted. “Enough.” She glared at him until he finally capitulated, sullenly and reluctantly.

  “Believe me when I say that I did not know the condition of your computers.” Kào enunciated slowly, allowing the few who had studied Key to follow along if they didn’t have their translators. “We needed data to build a language database for you,” he explained. “Unfortunately, the data-collection process must have erased the hard drives. But we have functional translators now, yes?” He raised his handheld. “And many of your languages from Earth are now stored permanently in the galactic database, never to be forgotten. Your world, in this way, will live forever. I hope you’ll see that your sacrifice was for the greater good.” He glanced at the sobbing woman who had lost the photos of her family. “But know that I truly regret the loss of your personal data. I can collect the affected electronics and see if there is anything that can be recovered.”

  After Jordan showed Ben the translation, he spat out, “Data? It wasn’t data. It was their lives. Family and friends. Pictures. E-mails.” His voice cracked. “It was all they had left.” Jordan’s heart twisted as Ben’s eyes filled with the tears he’d fought. “And now it’s gone,” he whispered. “Damn you. Damn all of you.”

  Ben broke down. Awkwardly she slipped her arms over the purser’s quivering shoulders. She was grateful that the expectation of imminent death had finally left Ben’s eyes, replaced by garden-variety resentment, which was a lot less awkward to deal with. Not because soothing Ben had reminded her of trying to cheer Craig when he’d drunk too much and felt depressed, but because she envied the purser his ability to cry. Since the day she’d arrived here, her own grief had throbbed inside her, trapped like a river behind a dam. She longed to release it.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, rubbing Ben’s back. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Natalie, bless her heart, took over. “Have you heard about my famous neck massages?” she crooned as she steered Ben away. “I bet you could use one. . . .”

  As the two crew members ambled off, Pastor Earl walked up to Jordan. “Grief seeks focus,” he confided, an explanation that obviously meant something to him as a counselor and a man of God.

  “If grief seeks focus, then Ben’s begs redirection. He blames Kào for everything, and that’s wrong.” On the other hand, his outburst on behalf of the passengers had knocked him out of his zombie state. Maybe now he’d resume his duties as her right-hand man. She was glad he could cry, but he needed to pitch in and accept his share of the responsibility that had been thrust upon them. She was tired of doing it alone.

  Jordan searched for Kào and glimpsed him standing outside the hatch, arms folded over his chest. There was no mistaking his we-need-to-talk look. Her stomach twisted. After he left here, what would he tell his crew? That the Earth survivors had traded stun guns for fists? What if he brought armed guards along the next time he came to visit? Ben might have blown it for all of them.

  Several other flight attendants hovered around her, plus a gaggle of worried-looking passengers, waiting for her to say or do something, she guessed. Jordan glowered at them, wondering who’d cheered for Ben. Only her own stubborn professionalism kept her from asking those responsible to step forward. Courage is doing the right thing even though you are scared.

  Or angry.

  It gave her the strength to ignore the fact that many of them had acted like children. Instead, she’d use the fistfight to drive home something that had been on her mind.

  “I’m embarrassed,” she told the group. “Kào’s been nothing less than professional from the very beginning. I wish I could say the same for my crew. He didn’t have to give us back our electronics. He’s on our side, damn it. Why don’t you see that?”

  Some people coughed. A few nodded, murmuring their support.

  “This incident proves we have a language and culture barrier. We can’t rely on our fists to communicate any more than we can those translators. We need to become fluent in Key before we get to wherever they’re dropping us off. Or we’re going to make mistakes there, too. Maybe fatal ones.”

  Gasps and grumbles. “How?” she asked for them. “No more dillydallying. We’re going to try language immersion, and that means periods where no English is allowed. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but as soon as my crew and I work out the details. And expect a similar emphasis on galactic politics and history, too.” She gentled her tone. “I know we’re still hurting. But ignorance isn’t bliss, folks. It’s dangerous.”

  Chin jutting high, she grabbed her translator and ducked out the hatch before they could bury her in complaints and requests. She half expected someone to chase after her to complain again about the showers or the beds—or the prospect of longer hours in school—but no one did. Maybe she was finally getting the hang of this leadership thing. Feeling a certain affinity with Napoleon, or maybe Stalin, she stopped in front of Kào. “I’m sorry. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  His mouth curved. “No.”

  “This shouldn’t have happened. I—”

  “The fault is mine,” he cut in. “I should have prepared your people for the possibility that their computers might no longer work, instead of letting them find out for themselves, with hopes held high.” He grimaced. “As I was warned they might, more or less.” He sighed tiredly.

  So did she. “Ben’s usually not like that. Ever since it happened . . . Earth . . . he’s been very quiet, very depressed. Maybe this was what he needed, losing his temper, getting his anger off his chest.” Her voice softened. “He hasn’t been there for me. Maybe he will be now.”

  “I hope that will be the case,” Kào said.

  Awkward silence followed. He didn’t seem to want to leave.

  If she was honest with herself, she didn’t want him to go. She thought of him all the time. Even when she slept, he was there, in her dreams . . . dreams of Colorado that engaged all her senses, leaving her bereft and sharpening her sense of loss when she woke from them. She’d never have that life: the horses and the ranch; Boo, and the man who loved them both. But something about Kào soothed her, made her feel as if everything was going to be okay.

  She sighed. “I’d invite you in, but—”

  He shook his head. “My presence will make some uncomfortable, in light of what happened.” She followed his gaze through the hatch. Inside Town Square, things were getting back to normal. A reading group gathered in the makeshift library. A few men Jordan recognized from the business-class roster were preparing to jog on the flexible track—the super-rat treadmill, Dillon called it. Pastor Earl was holding a Bible study, while Father Sugimoto sat hunched over in a chair, listening to a forlorn-looking woman recount her sins. When Natalie was done calming Ben, she’d meet her kickboxing devotees for an hour of Tae Bo kicks. All the children were in “school.” Jordan had worked hard to organize the activities, and she’d planned to make appearances at most of them after the staff meeting. But here she was, standing in the corridor with Kào.

  “Your duties call you,” he guessed.

  Her gaze whipped around to his scarred face. He had that uncanny way of reading her mind. “Your people aren’t telepathic, are they?”

  He lifted a brow. “As in being able to read a person’s thoughts? I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, you do a pretty good job of reading mine.” A fleeting expression of satisfaction crossed his face. “So, yes, duty calls. But, no, I don’t feel like answering.” She glanced up. “That’s awful, huh?”

  “Not awful, Jordan. Human.” He brought his hand to his chin and studied her. “Would you like to see the arena?”

  “The arena?” Yep, she’d read her translator right. He said “arena.” In the wake of Ben’s outburst, maybe h
e was going to feed her to the lions, then follow with the rest of her balky crew.

  “It’s where I exercise every day. Since you mentioned that you enjoy working out, I thought you might like to view the facility. There’s exercise clothing stored on site for your use, should you decide to lift weights or run.” A mischievous twinkle shone in his eyes. “Or simply escape your duties for a short time.”

  That giddy nervous feeling swept over her all over again. It still seemed surreal that she and this tall, forbidding man had spilled their deepest secrets on the observation deck. “I’m out of shape.”

  “So am I.”

  “Really out of shape.” He had no idea. She was so far out of practice with guys that just talking to one she was interested in tied her insides into knots.

  But just as he’d patiently drawn her out that day on the observation deck, he wasn’t deterred by her foot-dragging. “When out of shape, it’s recommended that you work out with a partner.”

  He tipped his head, waiting for her answer. He’d accept a genuine “no,” she thought, but he wasn’t going to fall for a weak excuse.

  She smiled. “Okay. I’ll go. But I’ll have to find a baby-sitter . . . maybe a couple of baby-sitters.” She remembered the white janitor’s jacket he’d used to disguise her and asked, “Do you want me to change into a jumpsuit?”

  He shook his head. “The jackets have a hood.”

  He was serious in not wanting anyone to know that he kept company with her—off duty. “Wait here,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”

  Moments later, after briefing her crew on her plans, she was leaving New Earth and her needy charges behind. Natalie and Ben had been nice enough not to voice the disapproval she saw in their eyes.

  Near the shuttle tube, Kào stopped at a locker and pulled out a long white jacket with a hood. She donned the disguise as she walked along. Refugee to janitor in 10.5 seconds flat, she thought wryly.

  Kào was taciturn, as usual. She didn’t mind. It allowed her to take in as many details of the ship as she could. One of these days, the knowledge might prove helpful. It made her excursion seem less of a jaunt if she used the opportunity to collect information.

  But some of what she learned, she didn’t like. When he’d taken her to the observation deck, they hadn’t seen any other people. The ship had a smaller than usual crew, he’d told her, but here, in the main part of the ship, some were out and about. Those who crossed paths with them did so with uneasy greetings and humbly averted eyes. Jordan frowned. Were they afraid of Kào or repelled by him? Either way, he had to live with these people. No wonder he seemed lonely.

  But Kào didn’t appear to notice the way the crew acted. Or maybe he didn’t care. He walked with his head held high, his body always wedged protectively between her and anyone who veered too close.

  A pair of burly male albinos swept by, nodding respectfully at Kào. By now, Jordan was used to seeing the few Talagars onboard, with their snow-white hair and red eyes, but she’d stayed up too late last night reading about Talagarian atrocities, and curiosity pulled her gaze over her shoulder just as one of the muscular Talagar men looked back over his.

  Their gazes met. Heest. A choking sensation rose up in her throat. He was the guard she’d knocked out with the escape slide.

  Heest’s eyes narrowed. Surprise flickered in their crimson depths, followed by a disdain so pointed that it made her blood curdle. He’d recognized her. But he didn’t stop, continuing on with his buddy.

  Jordan’s heart pounded against her ribs. So much for Kào’s efforts to disguise her. Nervously she glanced at him, but he hadn’t noticed the exchange and carried on as detached as before, aiming his wrist computer at a panel mounted in the wall. An elevator appeared in the adjacent tube, and they climbed aboard. Kào selected their destination and tipped his head for a retina scan. Wherever he was taking her to work out had higher security requirements than the observation deck.

  Jordan’s heart rate slowed, and she tried to put the red-eyed security guard out of her mind. A brief elevator ride took them down to another deck. The door slid open to a vast, featureless room. “The officers-only holo-arena,” Kào announced.

  She whistled softly. The far wall of the arena was so distant that she could barely make out the details. To her right were computers and what she guessed was exercise equipment: a spiderweb of laser-light-connected graceful mechanical parts and buoyant add-ons. The entire setup gave the impression of wealth, with its muted colors, thick padding, and elegance of design.

  “I’ve been on the ship for months,” Kào said. “But I’ve only recently resumed working out.”

  He appeared so genuinely excited to be sharing this with her that she hated to have to break eye contact to reference her translator. “Are all Alliance ships this well furnished?” she asked.

  He made a sound in his throat. “It’s acceptable for captains in the Alliance fleet to draw on their own funds to furnish their ships. Let me simply say that Commodore Moray is a man of means. This arena is impressive, even by his standards. The arena is equipped with voice-control. I registered my voice print yesterday. Let’s see if it recognizes me.” He spoke louder. “Computer. Holo-run—show options.”

  The beige walls pixilated into a forest, lovely and alien. Head tipped back, Jordan turned in a circle. The scene was so real that she expected to fill her nostrils with the fragrance of mossy dirt. Tree trunks were covered with velvety nut-brown scales and topped with drooping fronds. High above, the giants leaned into each other, their leaves laced together to form a canopy that muted the sunshine, tinting it blue-green. Birds that looked more like moths with split wings and featherlike antennae flitted and collided near the higher branches. Amazing. The entire room had transformed, just like that.

  Boo, you would have loved this. She braced herself for a stab of sorrow, but the unbidden thought of her daughter added to her pleasure in the moment. In a way, they were sharing it, she thought with a lump forming in her throat. “This is beautiful . . .”

  “That’s the running trail over there.” Kào pointed to a sun-dappled dirt path that disappeared into a grove of gently swaying trees. She would have missed it if he hadn’t shown it to her. “Or we can run here. Computer. Holorun—show next option.”

  The scene splintered into tiny squares and re-formed. Now they stood in the center of a field that swept away from them on all sides. Yellow-green grass billowed in a stiff breeze that she couldn’t feel, undulating to the distant horizon, tinted ochre by dust.

  “Computer,” Kào commanded. “Wind, level four.”

  A gust pushed her backward. “Ah!”

  Kào caught her. “Computer—level two!” he shouted above the roar of the wind and her laughter. The gale had reduced to a gentle breeze. “I’m still getting used to the various enhancements,” he admitted.

  She grinned as she shoved tangled hair out of her eyes. “I like this one, too. But”—she wrinkled her nose—“dust is hell on my allergies, simulated or not.”

  “Computer,” he said. “Holo-run. Show next option”—his dark eyes twinkled—“no dust, no dirt, no wind.”

  She began to laugh, but the room shattered like a car windshield and fell away from them. Literally fell away. She saw sky, pale blue and dotted with white puffy clouds, on three sides. And below . . . she couldn’t force herself to look.

  She threw herself backward to where her survival instinct told her there was a wall. Only after her back was pressed to the solid surface did she work up the courage to look down. Her feet were rooted on the only part of the floor that still appeared solid. But the black strip was barely wide enough to hold her feet. Her toes hung over the edge, below which a valley floor spread out before her. Indistinguishable from the real thing, the basin was dotted with vegetation and sliced through by a meandering river.

  Her stomach plummeted, and she fought the almost overwhelming urge to pee. They had to be twenty-five thousand feet in the air at least, and here she wa
s, an admitted acrophobic, clinging to the edge of a cliff.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Kào,” she squeaked, her hands clawing for something to hold. But he’d already walked away, gazing all around him, clearly fascinated.

  She tipped her head back against the wall and gulped. This was worse than the time she visited the top of the Eiffel Tower, a view she’d found impossible to enjoy because it couldn’t be viewed safely from behind glass.

  “Jordan!”

  Kào called to her. She was too petrified to reach for her translator. Panting, she felt a cold sweat prickling her skin. She pressed herself so firmly to the wall that she was sure her molecules and those of the surface fused.

  “Come, Jordan. You can’t get the full effect from there.” He faced her as he walked backward. “The view is astounding.”

  The view. He’d said something about the view. She didn’t care about the view. All she wanted was to see solid ground beneath her feet. “Computer—next option,” she croaked.

  The computer didn’t respond. And Kào didn’t hear her. He stopped, searching the scene around him. “Perhaps we ought to ask for wind. Level one? What do you think?”

  “No wind,” she almost shrieked. A cold sweat prickled her skin. Her knees were shaking. She would have gladly slid to the floor, but she was terrified that the itty-bitty cliff wouldn’t accommodate her butt.

  Finally it hit Kào that something was wrong. “What is it? You don’t look well.”

  She brought the translator around to her eyes and chanced another downward glance. Big mistake. A flock of birds flew past, thousands of feet below. She crammed her eyelids closed.

  “Are you afraid of heights?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “But you’re a pilot.”

  “So?”

  His eyes glowed. “Airplanes go up into the atmosphere. Rather high, in fact.”

  “It’s not the same thing. You’re strapped in a seat, behind glass. You can’t fall out. And don’t bring up the four laws of courage, either, because none of them applies. I know. I’ve tried them all. Let’s go to the next option. Is there a beach? I like running on the sand. Or what about that forest—that was nice. Yes. I like the forest.”