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  There were several other small issues that magnified the new lieutenant’s total abdication of recognition. Her physical appearance relegated her to the position of a drudge, nothing like an Earth warrior who’d had to have been highly esteemed to get and keep the sought-after position she now held. When she was seen outside Earth’s compound, the girl was constantly dressed in an Earth Embassy uniform, the tailoring of which was poor. Off duty, there was no obligation for her to wear anything but what she preferred. Unlike the other women from Earth’s embassy, her drab green uniform tunic, pants, and high brown boots were her only garb. She didn’t bother having them altered to fit as others did. Everything hung on her like a dragon’s feedbag.

  And why was she so pale?

  Winters were short on Mythreal. Spring came earlier than it did on Earth, and the sun almost always shone late into the evening. It seemed she avoided the light—avoided leaving Earth’s compound. Though she’d only been on the planet a few short weeks her actions seemed odd and entirely opposite from all her comrades. Most of Earth’s embassy staff inclusive of guards, maids, chauffeurs, and botanists, couldn’t wait to tour the beautiful, garden world to which many millions strove to emigrate.

  Why, during the few times she’d been in his presence, was she so inordinately quiet that he couldn’t reconcile her ability to strategize for the general, much less spy?

  There’d been no formal announcement of her arrival, just a small notice in an Allied High Command bulletin. This was not the norm. She’d simply taken over the general’s complete itinerary. Now, Albright went nowhere without her.

  Lieutenant Keira Foley was doing everything she possibly could to never be noticed. She was a complete enigma. Oddly, the more he studied her countenance—as provided by the bugging device she now stood near—the more intrigued he became. Unkind individuals might refer to her as plain. But there was nothing understated about her intelligence.

  The general was being manipulated. Spies could and had come in any form. At any time, her so-called suggestions to the general could become useful in setting up some grander scheme. A raid maybe? Or even an attack?

  Maybe she’d lure the entire law enforcement cadre of Mythreal into trusting the general so much that his suggestions—through her—could become a decoy. She might suggest law enforcement vessels inspect a load of ore in a certain sector of space, only to advise her pirate cohorts where those same vessels would be stationed. Than an all-out attack could ensue on innocent peacekeepers, simply trying to do the job they’d been assigned.

  He made the decision to dig further.

  Dillion punched up a series of codes that allowed him to hack into Earth Embassy’s personnel file. As with the bug in Albright’s office, the technology he used was beyond Earth’s reckoning. No one on this world ever told anyone else all their secrets. Embassies might be tied together by contractual obligations enforcing laws, but technological advances were still each embassy’s privilege. No ally ever let another ally know everything about every gadget devised. The technology he currently used fell into that don’t ask, don’t tell category. In that way, even the most devious spies, malcontents, or terrorists weren’t able to steal all defensive tactics from any one individual or embassy.

  In his heart he knew other Earth Embassy employees had nothing to do with Lieutenant Foley’s actions. They might even silently suspect her as he did. But they’d said nothing, so he’d taken action deemed necessary.

  He waited until Foley’s file came up then stepped back in shock.

  There was nothing on his screen but the girl’s name and her ID photo. The picture was as he’d always seen her. The image was still far too pale to say she appeared healthy—long brown hair was bundled at the back of her head. Her bright blue eyes were her only real, attractive feature. She had on a uniform jacket that, even from the waist up as the photo displayed, was ill-fitting. As usual, the clothing seemed too large, inappropriately altered. There wasn’t one single other fact or notation concerning her. Not even a birthdate.

  He frowned.

  If there was cause to be suspicious before, now he was downright sure the woman was a plant of some kind. She’d actually assumed this file could be hacked and had taken measures to assure her embassy identity remained innocuous. She’d known no one working legitimately would go to such lengths, so he couldn’t out her without outing himself.

  Smart girl. Very, very clever.

  This new discovery meant that someone else in the embassy knew she was a plant. She was being aided by someone in a high-ranking position or she could never have gotten away with leaving so little in her personnel file.

  “Bloody damn!”

  After making a second attempt to bring up more data and finding nothing else to alter his current suspicions, he turned off all the devices.

  There was nothing wrong with the bugs or his hacking skills. Suspicion turned to certainty. She was a spy and likely had a cohort. Was it Albright? Was the man that stupid?

  Dillon stepped back from the console in his bedroom office, walked to his balcony, and stared out at the noontime gardens two stories below.

  From his gray-stone estate, he had quite a fantastic view. A large garden fountain sparkled in the bright light. Gossamer-winged insects floated from the heads of colorful flowers, all planted for artful display. Everything on this world was at its loveliest now, in very early spring. It’d been a bit warmer than usual, and winter and summer would be grand.

  In the hillsides beyond, dragons flew in the deep blue sky. This time of year, they were breeding and preparing for eggs to hatch in the hot months ahead.

  He caught site of a group of beautiful, white unicorns meandering near the back garden wall. Dimflits—sentient beings described by Earthers as pixies—flew in and out of shrubbery while gathering nectar. Their shimmering colors would have captured his attention on any other day.

  For the rest of Mythreal, including his royal family, everything was peaceful, lovely and in its proper place. This was home. It was known as the jewel of the entire galaxy for its breathtaking scenery, safety, and convivial environment. The responsibility for keeping this garden world safe fell to him. Keeping his family out of the rumor mill was also his job. But the time had come to take action.

  “Who are you, Foley? Who sent you? How did you get so close to Albright and what’s your game?” he whispered.

  He’d have to make an arrest. And soon.

  And he’d have to do it in such a way as to apply the greatest discretion. But how? What was he going to say to his Earth friends; friends of so many years that they may as well be his own kin? He’d fought beside them against pirates in many campaigns. They were drinking comrades and fellow warriors. Now, he’d have to embarrass their embassy and all they stood for. They’d likely be sent away with a change of command. He’d never see them again. They’d never be allowed anywhere near Mythreal even though they’d known nothing about this incident and were innocent of any treachery. Still, they’d all be somewhat implicated or at least trust in them would be too diminished to let them stay. It’d take years to repair the damage if he wasn’t careful.

  For the rest of that day and the next three, he pondered the situation and how to approach it. When no answers came by dawn at week’s end, he sighed heavily and left his home to find his cousin and inform him—as next heir to the throne of Mythreal and as an Allied High Command official—the sad, sad news. Even if his words were gently applied, they would still fall harshly.

  Earth Embassy had been infiltrated by pirate spies.

  Eventually, he’d suffer for his having planted the bug even if it led to the outing of a traitor. But it had to be done.

  Chapter Two

  Dillon grimly strode down the hallway of his home. He was headed toward the waiting shuttle in the courtyard. The conveyance would take him to the Mythrealian royal estate. There, he’d inform his family of Earth’s problem. He’d also seal his fate.

  Even if what he’d done revealed
an entire nest of the vilest pirates, no one would ever trust him again. He’d broken the law and would have to take the consequences. As the code stated, it was up to each embassy ‘to impose their own security measures, taking such caution as to keep the peaceful population of this sector safe’. It was not up to one person to encroach on any embassy’s domain or sovereignty. Not even the security chief for the entire planet had that right. As irony would have it, he’d suffer the same likely fate as any spies he’d oust. Indeed, he was just as much a conspirator if one read the rules verbatim.

  He could have taken his suspicions to the king. But he’d made a choice and would live with the consequences.

  As he got to the foyer, arched front doors swung inward, and his regal grandmother sauntered toward him beaming. She was in obvious harmony with the early morning’s business. In her arms, she held a dozen red roses. He only knew what they were because he’d seen the flowers in Earth Embassy’s compound. Because scientists had to be careful about introducing alien cultivars into Mythreal’s ecosystem, roses weren’t a variety of fauna currently planted on his planet’s surface. Indeed, the planting of such species was only allowed within the confines of Earth’s glassed-in greenhouses. However, while the plants could not yet be introduced into Mythrealian soil, their carefully inspected buds and stems could certainly be dispersed at will. Momentarily startled by the display of so many roses at once, he hesitated until the beloved older woman approached.

  “Good morning, Dillon dear!”

  “Good morning, Immy,” he replied, using one of many nicknames employed since childhood when, at the age of two, the grand moniker of Immeldeline was totally unpronounceable.

  He soundly kissed her cheek before asking about the roses. “Where’d you get those? And at such an early hour?”

  “Oh, they’re not for me, my darling. They’re for you. A delivery man was bringing them up the drive as I left my cottage. They were obviously sent from Earth’s embassy. I uh…think…they’re meant to be an early Valentine’s Day gift.”

  “For me…why?” he blurted.

  “Well, open the accompanying card and see,” she suggested as she simultaneously handed the card from the bunch to him. Then she passed the blood-red blossoms to an approaching servant. “Put those in a crystal vase, will you, Eldred? They’re far too lovely for anything less. After they’re arranged, put them in the library where everyone can enjoy them. Including me. I’ll be reading there all day.”

  The servant known as Eldred, bowed slightly and walked away to do her bidding.

  Dillon simply stared at the old-fashioned, cream-colored envelope bearing a golden, Earth planetary seal on the outside. There was no reason someone from Earth’s Embassy should send him flowers or a note.

  Timing of the magnificent gift was suspect. The flowers apparently coincided with the upcoming holiday known as Valentine’s Day—a celebration still celebrated by humans wherever they happened to find themselves in the known galaxy.

  He stood there looking down at the small envelope, instinctively feeling his day had just gone from terrible to catastrophically horrific.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Immy impatiently prompted. “Please tell me you’ve finally got around to courting someone sensible. A nice Earth girl has invited you to the annual Valentine’s Day ball this weekend, hasn’t she?” Immy questioned as she clasped her hands together in glee. “I do hope so. You need someone in your life besides those silly, royal debutantes your parents keep throwing at you.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in disdain. “What a load of piffle-heads!”

  On any other day, he’d have laughed at that very apt description. But this morning didn’t find his mood so jovial.

  He opened the envelope and slowly scanned the message therein. The words were written in a very neat, lovely cursive. The style insinuated that the writer was feminine. In terms Earther’s would refer to as busted the note left him in no doubt as to the reason for the special delivery.

  ‘I found your thoughtful gift! The roses are meant to make this message appear genial though I can assure you the situation is anything but. We need to talk. NOW! Come alone.’ KF

  The word ‘but’ had been underlined several times. It didn’t take a psychic to sense the angry tone of the missive.

  On the bottom of the card were a series of shuttle coordinates. They were unrecognizable; meaning the meeting KF desired was likely some remote spot.

  “Dillon, do tell me who she is. Don’t keep me in suspense, my love. You do have a date to the Earth ball this weekend, don’t you? And it is an Earth girl, isn’t it?”

  He slowly turned to his grandmother and forced a smile. “Um…it’s…somewhat of a surprise, Immy. I…I’ll tell you later,” he lied.

  Immy let out a frustrated sigh. “All right, my dear. But don’t think for one moment I’ll forget the matter. I’ll stay on it the way a hill dragon sits on a clutch of eggs. I won’t be deterred. A woman doesn’t send flowers that’re so rare on this world. Not unless she’s deadly serious!” Immy lifted one hand to her hair while making a tsking sound. “So very sad that botanists on Mythreal won’t allow roses into the landscape…”

  Whatever else she said fell on deaf ears. Dillon simply nodded as though he’d heard, then slowly walked away after Grandmother was finished talking.

  Fifteen minutes later, after leaving a brief message in a personal journal located in his bedroom, he was aboard his private shuttle. Instead of heading toward the royal palace with news of treachery, however, he set the coordinates to match those in the note.

  When the shuttle was well on its flight path and flying steadily, he reached into a secret compartment beneath the front floorboard and pulled out his sidearm. Once his particle disseminator was strapped to his hip, he felt marginally better. With it, he might be able to defend himself against a gang of cutthroats.

  If this was a setup, the brief message he’d left in his journal would explain everything. Either he walked away from this clandestine meeting with an explanation, or he’d be found in the hinterlands as a victim of a pirate assault.

  To keep his family’s name out of this business, he had to do this alone. The journal entry would explain. By pre-arranged agreement, any message ever left in such a clandestine manner would only be read by his cousin, and only on his demise.

  His heart beat faster as the trip lengthened. Surroundings told him that he would, indeed, be in the middle of nowhere.

  ****

  Keira paced angrily.

  She’d found this isolated, lovely little glen by cruising out on her own one evening. The spectacular view of trees, much taller than any building within Earth’s compound, flowers with colors so bright they could boggle any mind, and grass so green and clean-smelling that it all filled the senses, would have been inspiring. But none of it mattered right now. Not after what she’d found last night. Even as strange, exotic birds flitted from bushes and vines, anger kept her from enjoying any part of Mythreal’s wonders.

  How many people would kill to get here—to a landscaped garden world where immigration was strictly controlled to preserve this natural habitat? While Earth was far too over-crowded, and its only remaining wild areas were within national parks and botanical displays, Mythreal was natural perfection. But all the loveliness failed to capture her heart at this moment.

  She’d counted herself lucky to be sent here, even if for a little while. Until she’d found that damned bug or its remnants.

  “Idiot! Who the hell does he think he is?”

  The he in question was none other than Dillon Greenleaf, Mythreal’s Chief of Security and veteran of over five pirate campaigns.

  The responsibility for pulling off this travesty was his. She meant to make him own it, right before she took a huge chunk off his incredibly handsome ass. Oh, he’d remotely destroyed the bugging device so its highly classified inner workings couldn’t be studied and copied, but there’d still been enough white, powdery residue remaining for her t
o figure out exactly what the object had been. She’d been trained to look for such remnants.

  What was so much worse—she’d assumed him to be of such high moral standards that the man wouldn’t have even considered such an illegal, disruptive, and treaty-ending act. Personally, she’d had him on a pedestal since arriving. That foolish hero-worship had obviously been misplaced.

  A check of the visitors’ log, coupled with visual recordings of who’d been in that room the last few weeks, led her to a very clear identification of her spy. At nearly seven feet tall, built like a Greek god, and the target of every single unattached female on the entire planet, Dillon Greenleaf was certainly the culprit. Obviously, he thought himself invincible or he’d have never pulled such a dastardly stunt.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  After raiding Earth’s greenhouses for a way to get his undivided attention, she’d traveled to the remote local in the woodlands, two hours away from any civilization. Aside from this being what she’d romantically referred to as her spot, she’d picked the location because it’d be free of any surveillance devices.

  When the sound of a very fast, powerful shuttle sounded in the distance, she stood in the middle of the lovely glen. The time it’d taken him to arrive hadn’t diminished her anger one bit.

  As he came closer, slowed the shuttle to a stop and hopped out of it, she didn’t miss the sidearm strapped to his side. Her own was handy on her left hip, being left-handed as she was.

  If things went south, there was going to be an investigation that’d rock the whole planet to its core. She prayed he’d listen. But his treacherous act—his obvious sense of being above any laws—led her to believe he wouldn’t.

  As he approached, with narrowed eyes and a warrior’s wary stance, she held onto the remaining threads of her temper. How dare he stare at her as though she was the one to be suspected? Where does he get off?

  Finally he stopped five feet away. Since she’d called this meeting, she meant to go first.