Bobby's Girl

Thradon

TWO YEARS AGO

Prologue

FROM THE DESK OF THE PREMIER OF DALYI

MOST SECRET

Eyes only

General Ket Mhulhar

Her Excellency, the High Marshal of Defense

Ket,

All is lost.

Our nation is finished, and as we’ve always known, as Dalyi goes, so goes Thradon. Our forces can only hold for a few more days. A few more days until the sunless, senseless dawn of a new dark age.

Sorry. I was a poet, once, as you may recall. What I lacked in talent I made up for in intensity. That’s all I think about now, those days, when we were both young and immortal and... forgive me. But you see, Ket, I’m going to terminate as soon as I’ve finished this communique. You can’t blame me for stalling just a little.

You must survive. That is my final order to you as your Premier. What fortune for us all that this disaster caught you in your home city of Kasma Dor instead of the capital. General Hederes has made special preparations for your escape, rescue, exile—whatever you want to call it. Follow his instructions to the letter. Someday, you must return to pick up the mantle of leadership. I know that your instincts are to join the fight, and I’m sure that you, better than anyone, could stage a brave resistance. But it would be futile, and without you, there’d be no hope left.

Go. Leave me in peace, with the knowledge that you have made it to safety. Grant me this, in the last moments of my life. I don’t want to die as a troubled and defeated premier of a nation soon to be devoid of freedom and beauty.

I want to die as the fiery young student I once was. The fighter, quick to anger, quick to cool, quick to laugh, quick to love. Especially you. Why the hell did we ever have to grow up? And why did I ever let you go?

El.

A tear plopped onto the page. Ket looked up quickly to see if anyone had noticed. They all had, but they were tactful men and women. They knew that the late Premier and the High Marshal had been lovers as young students and had always remained loyal friends.

Premier, General Hederes began tentatively.

"I am not the premier," Ket declared.

With respect, ma’am, technically, you are. The vice-premier and the minister of state are dead, which makes you the—

"All right, General, let’s not belabor the point. Give me a sitrep. Has the government fallen?" Ket had just returned from an international policy meeting in the nation of Truska and had been out of touch.

The capital has fallen. The rebels have—

Sha’n Res has fallen?

Yes. The capital is in enemy hands and the government is... Hederes could not finish.

General? Give it to me straight.

They’ve killed everyone, ma’am. Even low-level bureaucrats. Premier... Marshal...

General. Call me Ket. We’re a little past formalities at this point.

Understood. We have your escape prepared. If you’ll follow me?

Ket made a face of wry disbelief. Escape? I’m not going anywhere. The Resistance movement starts here.

But, Your Excellency—

"I hate that! Don’t ever call me that again. If I’m really the premier, that’s my first executive order. From now on, no one calls me ‘Your Excellency.’"

Ma’am, we have our orders from the premier as well. And those orders are to get you to safety.

Hederes, this is getting tiresome. Now, let’s get down to business. How much do we still contr—

Leave us, Hederes sternly ordered the rest of the surviving ministers and generals. There were a few moments of shuffling and scraping of chairs, but the room soon emptied, leaving the two of them alone.

That was rude, Ket remarked.

You’re making this harder for everyone than it has to be, Hederes admonished her.

Am I?

Hederes stood over her desk, wagging his long, bony finger angrily. I’ve looked up to you ever since my plebe year at Tira Gen. You’ve always set the right example and I’ve always followed you. But now... I’m ashamed.

His words stung her. For a moment he was no longer the commanding general of the Dalyi Defense Forces, her successor, and one of the most highly respected military men on the planet—he was suddenly transformed into the frightened young plebe at Tira Gen who her fellow upperclassmen had been sure would be the first to drop out. But she had seen it, even then, beyond the fear, beyond the frailty. The kid had backbone, and she saw it first, long before events proved her more than right.

Events that made him the most highly decorated soldier in the history of Dalyi—next to her, of course.

Nev, she said, oh, Nev, what would you have me do? Run away when my country needs me most? Could you?

I would follow my orders, he replied stiffly.

She laughed humorlessly. We both know that’s a damn lie, she said. "How often have we both disobeyed orders that we knew in our hearts were wrong? How often have you disobeyed my orders?"

This is different, he said stubbornly. The stakes are higher. And your orders come straight from the premier.

Oh, come on, Nev. The Ebereans may defeat us, but they’ll never be able to hold on to their conquest. Don’t give me that look, you know damned well that’s true. Once we get organized and start fighting back, they’re finished!

You don’t know that. We’ve never been defeated and occupied before. Anyway, the premier—

"I do know that. And as for the premier, he’s—he was a politician, not a soldier."

That’s right, and he was our politician. He was elected by the people and you weren’t.

Nev, if I go away, who commands the Resistance?

I do.

She nodded. Very well. Then tell me this: What’re your objectives?

He smiled for the first time. Why don’t you tell me?

She counted them off on her fingers: To disrupt enemy communications; to undermine enemy morale; to force the ruling government into unpopular decisions that eventually deprive the population of freedom and sec—

If I may, Hederes interjected. You’re missing the obvious.

I am?

Yes, Your Exc—I mean, Premier. It’s far simpler than that. Everything you’ve mentioned is the means, not the end.

And what is... the end?

He locked his eyes with her own. To keep hope alive, he whispered.

Colonel Holak Ven paced nervously in the waiting area outside the operating theatre.

They’re going to screw it up, I just know it, he muttered.

Why don’t you sit down, Nev Hederes said irritably. You’re making me as jumpy as you are.

Well, I’m sorry, General. There’s a lot on the line here. Damn it! I wish they’d have let me in there!

Oh, good idea, Holak. That’s just where a mellow guy like you belongs—getting in everyone’s way in an operating room. Whose bright idea was it to make you an astronaut, anyway? A bundle of nerves like you in a spacecraft!

Colonel Ven smiled. It was my charm and good looks, he replied, and Hederes had to admit, Holak Ven did have looks and charm to burn when he wasn’t on edge. Ven was the prime pilot of Dalyi’s space program and had logged years worth of voyages. His fame among his countrymen bordered on reverential, but his outspokenness had stalled him on the promotion ladder. He should have made general years before and now never would.

Do you think we can get her out in time? Ven asked suddenly.

Hederes grunted. The situation did not look promising. The rebel forces were now a mere day away from Kasma Dor, and entire regiments were already surrendering.

They’ll be in range for air strikes in six hours, Hederes figured, and artillery range in twelve.

Then those idiots better hurry up, Ven remarked.

But it was another nerve-wracking, maddeningly slow-passing hour before the surgery doors whooshed open and the chief surgeon emerged, pulling off his sterile helmet.

Colonel Ven leapt to his feet. Well?

She’s fine. Resting comfortably. Are you going to tell her?

Tell her what?

Hederes cleared his throat explosively. The doctor winced.

Oh, he said, his face betraying a monumental goof up.

What aren’t you telling me? Ven demanded. Or her?

Look, you’re the expert on that planet, Hederes whispered gruffly, pulling Ven aside. Why should you be so surprised?

Ven stood his ground. Are you going to tell me?

Hederes threw up his hands and nodded to the chief surgeon.

It’s the surgery, the doctor began.

Well, what about it, for God’s sake?

It’s... it’s irreversible.

What! Ven shouted.

Oh, come on, Holak, Hederes argued. "You know about that... that place she’s going to. You know what the people look like. They’re... smaller... than we are. There’s just... less of them. We had to turn her into one of them, didn’t we?"

Great! Ven said miserably. "What happens when she comes back? She’ll look like them."

We’ll just have to live with it, Hederes said. "Keeping her safe, keeping her alive, that was the premier’s final order. I don’t like it any more than you do."

That’s not all, the surgeon began tentatively.

Oh, good, Ven replied with fake jollity. Another venue heard from.

I had to do it, the doctor said. He pointed an accusing finger at Ven. You’re the expert on this planet. You said they weren’t ready for us. I had no choice.

No choice?

Our new premier... well, it was never any secret. She always had a long... romantic... streak.

So?

The surgeon threw himself into a chair, exhausted. Well, she’ll be there a long, long time. A counterrevolution takes decades. What if she—well, falls in love?

"With one of them?"

It’s possible, Hederes nodded. I’d say, even probable. Holak, we’ve known Her Excellency since academy days at Tira Gen. She always took special pleasure in... pleasure.

So, what are you saying, Doc, Colonel Ven demanded.

"I had to consider all contingencies, Colonel. What if she falls in love, takes a mate, and has a child? How would she explain a Thradonian issue? How would she live the quiet, safe, and obscure life that is supposed to protect her then?"

What did you do? Ven growled, ready to slug the doctor.

I had to alter her genetic codes! Make them match theirs. I don’t feel real good about it, okay? But what else was I supposed to do?

Ven stalked over to the window and stared out at the capital city. Kasma Dor, the jewel of Dalyi! Sha’n Res might have been the capital, but it was dull, charmless, and bureaucratic, a paper mill of a city that closed down as soon as the government finished its work for the day. His own Kasma Dor, that was the real Dalyi! The center of the arts, trade, and fashion. It Happens Here First. That was the city’s motto. And it was his city, the place of his birth, his childhood, his riotous adolescent and student years. It was Ket Mhulhar’s as well, and that was why they had always been friends—even at the academy. Their cockiness and urban sophistication had drawn them together, the two big-city kids, anomalies in the military, whose career ranks were largely populated by rubes from the country. They had often been lovers, albeit briefly, because the last place Ket ever belonged was in a cage. But they had always been friends. Ket’s lovers always stayed her friends.

He peered out at the gleaming skyline and almost wept. The proud city of Kasma Dor, which had never, in its entire eight thousand-year history, ever been conquered, occupied, or even touched by war. The prize of Dalyi. It would be declared an open city, of course. No one could bear the thought of Dalyi’s oldest yet most modern city smoldering in ashes. And so, soon, the city would no longer be his. Or Ket’s.

His life was over. Oh, he’d last a little while, pull a few hit-and-run raids, the usual guerilla things. But they’d get him in sooner or later. Probably sooner. They were probably toting up the price on his head at this very moment. Save Ket—keep her alive—that was the important thing now.

He turned away from the window. All right, Doctor. Let’s go admire your handiwork.

The sheets were drawn back and the premier, still asleep, lay naked on the recovery table.

You fool! Ven shouted at the doctor.

The doctor fought an urge to throw up his hands and protect his face.

You idiot! You jerk! Look at her, you moron!

The doctor was one of the most respected surgeons in Kasma Dor. He had enjoyed a long and distinguished career, filled with honors and accolades. He was even a general in the reserves, one of the highest-ranking medical officers in the Defense Force. And now this... flyboy... was calling him stupid. If this was the way his life was going, the enemy was welcome to him.

I did the best I could, within obvious limits, Colonel. What’s the problem?

Look at what you did to her! Then you tell me!

Hederes put a hand on Ven’s shoulder. You’re being unreasonable, Holak.

What did I do to her? the doctor demanded. "She’s not deformed—I went by your specifications. If I made her too ugly, I’m sorry! How am I supposed to know what they consider good-loo—"

You didn’t make her too ugly, Ven argued. "I could’ve lived with that! You made her too pretty!"

I what! the doctor shouted back.

Look at this. The hair! The face! It’s perfect. Everything in proportion. The body! Look at those bumps! They go nuts for bumps like that!

For those? Hederes wondered, pointing to them. Whatever for?

Ven ignored him. "Look at those legs! Terran males go to sleep hoping they’ll dream about someone who looks like this! Oh, you really screwed the pooch, Doctor."

Well, I’m sorry, Colonel—

"What is wrong with you? Don’t you realize that now... she’ll never be left alone! The men’ll be all over her! Women will hate her! Everyone will remember her!"

Colonel, you’ve observed this planet for years. You’ve even been there. I haven’t. You’re being unfair!

All right, enough! Hederes barked. If the premier is beautiful—by their standards—then that’s the way it is. There’s no more time. Doctor, get her prepped for the voyage.

Yes, General.

Hederes turned to Ven. Holak, we’ve got to get her launched.

Nev? What have we done?

We’ve obeyed our orders and saved her life. Now—

Don’t you want to wake her first? Say good-bye? Come on, Nev, she’s been our pal since—

No, Hederes said sharply. He shrugged and gave Ven a quick apologetic grin. Look, Holak, we’ve got lots of goodbyes ahead of us. Not one of them will be easy. So let’s spare ourselves this hardest one of all, all right?

I suppose you’re right. Damn! I wish—

"That’s an end to it, Colonel. May I remind you, we have more pressing business at hand? Such as, starting a revolution? So that maybe, just maybe, when the time comes, the concept of freedom won’t be entirely dead? You know, Holak, freedom? The only word in our language that means the same thing backwards and forwards? Ven? Nev?"

Ven slapped Hederes on the shoulder. You know, Nev, back when you were just a whiny little plebe, Ket and I should’ve stuck you in a laundry sack somewhere.

"You did stick me in a laundry sack," Nev reminded him, still not able to look back and laugh entirely at the memory.

Yeah, but we should’ve kept you there. I warned her, but she wouldn’t listen. And so it happened. We created a monster.

The launching site was at Cresvo Denor, a small island to the east of the city. Hederes had already sent a delegation to the enemy to discuss terms of surrender. There was really nothing to negotiate; all was lost, and the delegation’s real job was to buy a little more time.

For the last four hundred years, since the beginning of the space program, Cresvo Denor had been its headquarters. Cresvo Denor was almost a scaled-down replica of Kasma Dor, with smaller versions of its gleaming spires, needle-topped domes, and even the same swooping, pneumatic monorail girding its perimeter. It was a city in itself, a booming and vibrant company town with a vast housing complex and its own shops, theatres, and schools. All of which were deserted now, as the workers and their children had been evacuated to Kasma Dor and its suburbs.

In fact, there were only three people left on the entire island, and one of them wasn’t even conscious.

The spacecraft was the latest of the Juma Series, a teardrop-shaped craft meant for a crew of ten. Hopefully, the supplies it carried might last the trip.

Is there enough fuel in this thing? Hederes asked distastefully. His only fear, that of flying, was legendary throughout the service. He had been quite happy as a foot soldier, thank you. Leave the air to psychopaths like Ven.

No way, Ven replied. Not a chance. There’s a prototype I’ve hidden, that could—easily. But we’ll need that to bring her back.

Well, then, how do you expect—

I’ve laid in all the navigational settings. Each solar system has a sun, right?

That’s why they call it a ‘solar’ system, Holak, Hederes replied.

Right. The sun has a powerful gravitational pull. So does each planet. The way we’ve done it in the past is, we cut power and use those gravitational fields to pull us through the galaxy.

Hederes’s jaw dropped. Do you mean to tell me, he began slowly, in extreme disbelief, "that she’s going to careen through space from one planet’s gravitational field to the next, like a drunk bouncing down the walls of a narrow hallway?"

Ven shrugged. Well, it’s not that simple, but, basically, yes.

And this lunacy is actually expected to work?

Nev, it does work. I’ve done it, what, half a dozen times. And I’m here to talk about it.

I still don’t believe it.

Well, whether you believe it or not, it’s her only chance. General, I suggest we get her launched. I’ve set the charges and this whole island is going to blow in about forty-five minutes.

Ven had planned for the destruction of Cresvo Denor since the revolution had begun. There was no way that he was going to allow the rebels to assume Dalyi’s planetary franchise on space travel. And that would serve another purpose as well—no one would be able to go after Ket. If all went as planned.

Can we say good-bye to her?

I think we should.

They climbed the short gangway into the blunt end of the teardrop. Ket was strapped into a fold-down compartment. Nev Hederes looked at the strange figure that had once been, and he supposed, still was the person he most admired. He pushed the unfamiliar golden... hair... Ven had called it, from her forehead.

I can say it now, he whispered to her. I’ve always loved you. He kissed her eyes softly.

Hederes stood up and surveyed the ship. Good thing there’s room for ten people, he said. She’ll need it.

It’ll get smaller, Ven said. It soon does. But she’ll have a lot to do.

Such as?

First, she has to learn the language.

Of the planet?

Nev, what planet has only one language? No, of the nation we’re sending her to. Then, like a child, she has to learn their ways from the ground up. Understand their collective consciousness. I wanted to give her every possible advantage, so I chose the country that is the most like ours. The richest, strongest, most relaxed—their version of Dalyi. It’s a young country, but it’s the best they’ve got.

A young country? How young?

About two hundred years. It’s called—

Two hundred years! Hederes cried in disbelief. "That’s not a country... it’s a sperm!"

Believe me, it’ll do. I’ve been there. And to tell you the truth, I kind of like it. And there’s something else.

Hederes didn’t want to know, but he asked anyway. What else?

It’s their atmosphere. They haven’t mastered it yet, but we have. Once she gets there, she’ll find that she’s quite... formidable.

Formidable? What does that mean?

Ven’s answer was cut off by a shriek from overhead. Spy probes, he mused. Nev, we’ve got to get her out of here and blow the place. He paused. Can I have a minute with her?

Very well. He turned and went down the gangway.

Ven knelt next to Ket. He allowed himself a rueful chuckle.

You know, Ket, he began tenderly, "after all these years, there’s still no one else I’d rather end the day with. I figured, now that it’s what, seventy years since Tira Gen and we’re both still available. If all this hadn’t happened—or even if it had—I was going to ask you to become mates. You probably would’ve said no, but, then again, maybe you’d’ve thought, it might be fun. I mean, come on, Ket, who knows you better than I? Who ever will? And who knows me better than you? We might’ve even had some great kids.

You’ll find someone where you’re going, Ket. I just... I have that feeling that even if we both live through this, that I’ve lost you forever. You’ll be there awhile, and eventually someone’s going to start looking good to you... like in a bar after six hours and twice as many drinks. Just make sure he’s worthy of you. Do that for me.

Then Holak Ven did something extraordinary. He gave Ket the Five-Point Kiss—which in Dalyi tradition sealed the ceremonial rite of mates.

I’ll die calling your name, Ket. I hope you hear me.

The preset launch sequence reached its crescendo and the ship vanished. Hederes had seen launches before and still couldn’t believe how fast the ship went from the ground into space. One moment, it was squatting serenely on the launch site, and the next instant, it was gone. A pebble at the top of the sky.

Let’s hit it, Nev, Holak Ven said. This place is archives in less than ten minutes.

I’m curious, Holak. Where is she going to live?

I told you, a planet called—

Hederes cut him off. "I don’t mean the planet. I don’t even mean the country. I mean, where will she live? A city? An exurb? What will she do? How will she fill her days? How will she fit in?"

Ven laughed and put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. That’s the beauty of it! Where she’s going, she won’t have to fit in!

I don’t understand, Hederes replied.

"Neither do I. But from what I know about that planet, there was really just one place for her to go. She actually will fit right in."

She will? What kind of place is this?

A city. A strange, wonderful city. Perfect for a woman from outer space. It’s called ‘Los Angeles.’

Earth

PRESENT DAY

1

DESERT HOT SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

Sy and Shirley Albertson lived for golf. Both were seventy-five extraordinarily fit years of age—so vigorous that they played tennis just to stay in shape for golf.

They played a minimum of eighteen holes a day, weather permitting, sometimes more, never less. They ate healthy meals, exercised religiously, slept fast, and rose early so as to not lose even an hour of sunlight on the links. They were a tanned and handsome couple who had worked hard, built a life, and raised a family. Now they were enjoying the fruits of their considerable labor and freely indulging themselves in their greatest passion.

Their standing deal—beginning thirty-eight years before, the day that they had each picked up a club for the first time—was that the loser bought dinner. Tonight, as had happened more than half the time for the last four decades, Sy had paid for the meal. Shirley could not compete with his booming drives off the tee, but he was equally helpless in the face of her gifted putting and fairway placement skills.

Today they had shot a particularly satisfying round