Titus found a deck of cards inside his chair’s arm rest. “Anyone like to play cards?”
Gold shrugged. “Let’s see if our fifth plays bridge. We’ll have plenty of time before docking at Goddard.”
All the passengers had boarded, and still their fifth did not show. An awful suspicion began to creep over him. If this was the only seat left, and someone was late, chances were good it would be his adversary. The Tourists would want their agent to watch Titus, and Connie would want Titus to watch the Tourist. Not that there’s anything either of us could do at the moment.
He felt and heard the distant clanging shudder and adjustment in air pressure as the hatch was finally closed. There’s no one coming. Connie’s blocked them!
Then he felt a powerful presence nearing, a palpable Influence he was very afraid he recognized.
“Strap in quickly, Doctor,” advised the attendant who ushered the tall gentleman in. To Titus she said, “You can take out the cards again when we’re in free fall. They’ll adhere to the table, or you may keep them on their holders. You’ll find the holders in the chair arms.”
Titus barely heard her.
The adversary stood with his back to them, as he doffed hat and jacket. “Sorry to be late.” His too familiar voice was cultured, his accent indefinable. “I was detained in traffic in Lima.” He appeared middle aged, but stick figure thin, as were all of their kind. He turned to face Titus.
Father!
“You seem surprised to see me, Titus,” he answered, aware of the humans listening. “I admit, I hadn’t expected you’d be here.” He added with genuine concern, “Are you sure you can withstand the rigors of this job?”
This was the man who’d dug Titus out of a premature grave and wakened him to his current life by giving of his own blood, the man who had resurrected Titus to the life of a vampire.
Titus swallowed the lump in his throat and chose his words for the humans around them. “I was reliably informed that you had declined the Project’s invitation.”
“I had, until I heard you’d accepted.” He added with peculiar emphasis, “Now, I’m glad I’m here. I will be able to...observe...your work as no one else of my persuasion could.”
Titus read him clearly. In his centuries of life, Abbot Nandoha had acquired many specialties. There was no sabotage Titus could do that Abbot couldn’t undo.
Abbot was saying quite plainly that he would stop at nothing—absolutely nothing—to get that SOS out.
CHAPTER TWO
As the attendant left, Titus answered, “I’m flattered...Dr. Nandoha.” He suppressed a shiver of cold dread and tried to sound implacable. “And I intend to observe your work as closely as I can.” What else could he do? Not only was Abbot much older and stronger than Titus, but he was also his father. Titus was completely in his power. There was no point in his trying to fight Abbot, and Connie knew that.
He suddenly envisioned the quiet battle she had been waging in Quito, trying to delay Abbot, to have him replaced. No wonder she let them get my bag, and almost let them get me! She only had eight operatives planted in the Project, and all of them were on Earth. Titus was the only one to make it to the moon.
To break the tension, Gold spoke up. “Well! It does seem you know each other. Titus, introduce us.”
Titus gestured to his far right. “Abbot, the gentleman by the door—I mean hatch—is Dr. Abner Gold, metallurgist. The lady here is Dr. Mirelle de Lisle, Cognitive Sciences. And—” The man facing Titus across the porthole had never said a word. He was totally absorbed in a newsletter printed in Cyrillic characters. “I didn’t catch your name, Doctor?”
The man was fiftyish, hawk-nosed, with muscular forearms and painfully short fingernails. “Sir?” prompted Titus. The man finally looked up as if returning from a far distance. He raised both bushy white eyebrows and gazed innocently at Titus, who repeated, “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Mihelich, Andre Mihelich.”
Titus repeated their names and specialities, but Mihelich did not offer anything further until Titus asked, “Which department are you working in?”
“Biomed.” With that, he returned to his newsletter. Since he hadn’t answered to “Doctor,” Titus deduced that Mihelich was one of the nurses or techs in the huge medical department that did both research and healthcare. From the few words he’d spoken, he seemed to be a North American.
Into the resounding silence, Titus said, “Doctors, this is Dr. Abbot Nandoha, electrical engineer, circuit designer, and computer architect. Where will you be working, Abbot?”
From his seat across from Mirelle and Titus, Abbot answered, “Generating plant, supplying power to your computers, Titus, and life support to the Station.”
He could go anywhere without question. Titus shook off despair. Things couldn’t get any worse now.
“Well!” said Abner Gold. “Bridge, anyone?”
“Actually,” said Mirelle, “poker’s more my game. Perhaps if we play poker, Dr. Mihelich will join us?”
Just then, the speakers came on announcing liftoff. Simultaneously, their little table sank into the floor, and their seats swiveled and flattened as the Captain readied for thrust. Soon, the faint murmur singing through the bulkheads became a thick vibration that blotted out all other sound.
Then Titus felt his back forced into a proper posture by the gathering g-forces. He relaxed into it. Though the decibel level reached the upper limits of toleration, the sound had the reassuring coherence of finely tuned machinery. It was not threatening. It inspired confidence. Even awe.
For the first time, Titus was able to open himself to the experience of leaving Earth. His ancestors had come here in a far more sophisticated craft. But he and his kind had long worked with humans to create this crude vehicle. And now—at last—they were returning to space.
The emotion was as overwhelming as the sound. He caught his father watching him, features distorted by acceleration. There was a fierce joy on Abbot’s face that expressed just how Titus was feeling. He did his best to return it, and for a moment the extra sense that guided the use of Influence flared between them, a fierce embrace.
As they shared their private triumph, Titus knew Abbot loved him just as Titus’s human father, the man who’d raised him, had loved him. Of his genetic father, Titus knew only that he’d been a vampire, and was probably dead. Abbot had wakened Titus, nurtured him, and now wanted him to share this step in the liberation of The Blood from lonely exile.
The sweet warmth of that embrace stole over Titus, feeding his starved soul. There were so few of them scattered over Earth; they couldn’t afford to let factions split them. They understood one another’s needs, knew each other’s moods, and could rely on each other no matter what the imposition. They were a family. The warmth of belonging was something Titus had rarely felt since his human family had buried him, mistaking him for a dead human.
Until this moment, drowning in the universal roar, helpless in the grip of forces stronger than himself, Titus had not realized how deeply deprived his life had been. There was a hollow ache where there should have been parents, sister, brother, wife, and children of his own.
With a gasp, Titus twisted his head away, breaking the contact with Abbot’s eyes. Wife. It was like a hot knife in his heart. Inea. Two more days and we’d have been married.
He clamped his lips shut. He’d vowed never to say her name again. It was over and