LEXA AND THE LOST WARHORSES by Jacki Bentley

Book II - LEXA AND THE LOST WARHORSES by Jacki Bentley

A former captive bride in her youth, her only daughter stolen from her, Lexa doesn't want to feel love for another human being ever again. But she steps out of her protective shell to fight for the life of the valiant mutant soldier called Hane. Lexa has never known real passion before, but only she can save Hane and teach him to feel.

As his genetic enhancement threatens his life, Hane continues his work for the Alliance of Colonies. He sees Lexa desperately seeking a cure for him and knows the love he senses through his telepathic link to her must be resisted and rejected. For her own protection, he must deny his growing feelings for her.

EXCERPT

Book II: Flying Warhorse Chronicles

LEXA AND THE LOST WARHORSES

By

Jacki Bentley



© copyright December 2008 Jacki Bentley, LLC

Cover art by Alex DeShanks© copyright December 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-248-5

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com



This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.



Alliance of Colonies, Capital City

465 years after settlement

The medical ship, Impke



Chapter One

“What is this about a clone, Prime Healer?”

Hane glowered at her under his handsome, dark eyebrows.

“It’s a reasonable next step.”

“No.”

“I ... can ... can’t help you if you do not cooperate.” Lexa Stoll restlessly fingered the tiny tabs on her opti-lenses to adjust them, and then gave him her sternest Prime Healer’s glare.

His gray eyes, under those perfectly shaped black brows darkened to ice-cold silver.

“You enunciate slowly and speak to me as if I am a child,” he said.

His voice rumbled through her, the commanding edge as sharp as hardened alloy. A sexual shiver shook her entire frame and Lexa hugged her slender arms to herself, hiding her hands in the long sleeves of her crisp, white healer’s robes.

“Healer?”

She stood; actually, she cowered behind her suspended desk. Its polished turquoise glass shimmered in the ship’s artificial light.

Whether his warrior’s training or some deep dread of being too close to her person, Hane stood stiff and still by her door, as far from her as possible while still being in her office.

Because of her pesky attraction to him, she cowardly had various Under Healers handle the routine care in the attempt to reverse his dangerous mutation, while she worked non-stop-fast in the lab looking for new things to try. The avoidance strategy saved her the pain from seeing him in person too often, from stammering like an idiot in his presence.

“Ah ... if ... you’ll let me explain--”

As she saw him now. As she stammered now.

With no warning he stormed to her door, and she had zero time to shore up her defenses against his sensual presence. Burning stars, he was compelling. Tall in height, dark and dangerous in looks. She could feel the pull of him from here. If he knew her secret, he would hate her. She shook her head sadly.

“Hane, it is certainly not my intent to treat you as a child, to push you in any way ... I assure you of that. I just lose my--”

“Patience?” he asked.

He studied her relentlessly. She’d never seen him this angry. Cold, calm and calculating under life and death pressure, yes, but the true heat of anger like this, not before.

“Indeed, you are known for your patience,” he continued.

She narrowed her eyes, gauging his meaning. Would he deliberately bate her? Try to annoy her on purpose? Her hackles rose. But he was above that, far too superhuman for that, with his long, long legs and his gray, scaly skin and striking bird-of-prey eyes and Alliance Guard uniform. Wasn’t he? Heavens, today his expression sparked and crackled with something dangerous.

“No need for masculine sarcasm.” She forced herself to speak. “I planned to say, focus. I meant, focus. You surprised me just dropping in ... like an avenging angel from the underworlds.”

He sought and held her gaze. “Hear me, Prime Healer Stoll. I will not be saved at the expense of a brother clone. You do not make the decision in this.”

She looked down, unable to endure his determined stare.

“A made man who is my brother by blood,” he said. “By. God. No.”

“I understand your--” she faced him again.

He tapped the side of his face, indicating the gray-blue scaling of his skin, reminiscent of some handsome, exotic reptilian species. His eyes fired with dark, molten passion. “I’d rather live out my days working in a freak show on some backward world than harm another human being with my cure.”

His bare words left no doubt.

“Yes, well ... but--” Suns around them, words escaped her.

“You will not change my mind on the subject.”

“... but you would live!”

He held up a large hand.

“Oh, by the very Heavens above and the Sacred Rocks beneath us!” She lost all professional control and plunged both hands into her unruly yellow-blond hair, hair so in keeping with Olandian natives--the color, anyway. Her wayward curls flew in all directions like demented baby snakes.

He took a step toward her. And to her astonishment, a superior masculine grin quirked across his lips--perhaps because she’d lost it and beseeched the natural elements for help. Why the ... the arrogant male beast!

“You listen to me,” she said, angry herself now. “As your Prime Healer, I must be open to alternative plans. I cannot afford sympathy for the clone.” She knew she spoke only part-truth. If they lost a clone of this man, she’d grieve, but he must come first. “My duty is to worry about you,” she whispered. “To save you if I can.”

“No. We won’t do this. We won’t cause pain to another being. I’d rather have my brain transplanted to a ’droid. Give it up, Prime Healer.”

Lexa shivered as if she were chilled. “I understand. We don’t know everything about how humans respond to pain,” she whispered. “But a clone might be honored to help you. As any brother would be.” She shamelessly used his own word, brother. She’d felt she had to give saving him one last try.

His stony silence filled the room

She relented. “I suppose I expected the depth of your outrage.”

“You would have kept the information from me until too late.”

“Of course.”

He gave a short, harsh laugh. “You think like a scientist. You see only the thrill of discovery and new achievements.”

“And you are unyielding in everything.” He was. The determination in him surpassed any man she’d ever met in all her thirty years.

“I’ve needed to be so to survive.”

“Of course you have. Of course. I admire that.” Blast it all to a frozen hell in space. In her gut she’d known he’d feel this way, and therefore had no right to the sickening lurch of disappointment that came over her. Nor the abject fear for his future that rendered her heart ice-cold and thumping painfully in her chest.

He clasped his hands behind his back, stiffening his body language even further. “I don’t ask for your admiration.”

“Humph, I know you don’t. But you have it, anyway. As a member of Alliance Chancellor Coyle Oside’s personal security team, you’ve more than earned respect. Hane. You must see that a clone could make a reversal of your transgenic mutation happen. Now. I ... ah ... there’s nothing wrong with a physician wanting that kind of efficiency. I’ve tried everything else I could think of.”

He stood stony, watching her, saying no more. She wanted to run to him and hold him in her arms.

She waved a hand, seeking to make him see. “Accelerated cloning is not illegal for an Olandian healer,” she continued, her mind freewheeling through possible words. “Olandia’s law recognizes its occasional necessity--if the cause is just enough. Saving the life of an accomplished Alliance guardsman more than qualifies.”

“You’re not on Olandia anymore, Prime Healer. No life outweighs another here in broader Alliance territory.”

Shame that he would correct her stabbed her. “No. No. I did not mean to sound as if I believed in the Olandia Science Colony’s old ways of class divisions and the value of pure blood. That dogma has not served her well. Equality is a far wiser course for government.”

“Let me guess, you filed the necessary paperwork for a clone months ago, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she snapped. “I hoped not to have to take this step. Back then I ... er ... was overly confident I ... we ... would discover another way long before now. I thought I ...”

“This is not it.” Hane moved to action, coming to her. When he reached her desk, he turned to stride back and forth. Suppressed impatience radiated from him, his erect posture and square shoulders reflected his exasperation with her. A long gray Alliance Guard’s overcoat swirled about his long legs. God, she loved that sexy coat. The neck-high, fitted collar of his uniform shirt was designed to be left open in warm weather like today.

He never opened it.

Her eyes followed his actions as he un-shouldered his laser weapon and propped the long, black gun on the chair, at hand’s reach. This was a new development. He never let go of the damn thing.

“I can’t believe you put that wicked-looking gun down.” She tried a weak smile. “Good though. You’ll be less tempted to shoot me.”

He raised one perfect black eyebrow in response.

She realized he was here because he must’ve heard leaks from her staff of a possible clone for him before storming into her office.

“I could never harm you,” he said, not smiling as she’d hoped, as if she’d been serious.

Unable to hold his gaze, she looked to the tools resting on her desktop. An efficient little physician’s cyber ink reader, a lovely red writing stylus, and a new-tech portable patient scanner, all neatly placed. All arranged in a comforting familiarity and organization for her.

“Please, take a seat, won’t you?” she offered, trying again to smile but managing only a weak grimace instead.

“I’ve had my say, Healer. I won’t stay long. I must return to the Chancellor’s offices.”

Heavens, he was so close now. Not for the first time, she noticed the man in front of her was very impressive, chest very broad.

And he smelled so good.

He took over the room with his masculine presence, dominated the efficient old ship’s layout with his power. His masculine shoulders stretched ramrod straight and true.

Due to the drag of the mutated skin, he’d been under ideal weight the time she’d known him. However, he’d put on some substance since she’d seen him last, adding to his appeal to her. His appearance reflected more muscling and better health than when she’d first encountered, but he was still too lean and his complexion too gray and deeply shadowed at his sharp cheekbones letting her know the improvement would not last.

Shaking her head, she tried to banish all thoughts of how attractive he’d always been to her silly, wayward body and heart.

Hane’s gray eyes penned her now, watchful, making her squirm under his straight look. As if he knew of her romantic feelings for him, sensed them, smelled them emanating from her very skin.

And why shouldn’t he know, in fact? She’d asked him to be her mate in the Alliance’s Challenge Ritual. Her home, the science world, Olandia, had sought Alliance help with a threatening genetic bottleneck. The Science Council had thought up the controversial computer mating of Olandian females to suitable outworlder males. The women were allowed to choose from a list of matching candidates. She’d impulsively gone off her assigned list and asked for Hane, the man who had saved her and her companions from mercenaries who tried to stop the Challenge. She’d loved him at first sight after a very short acquaintance.

Well, he’d answered by a sharp shake of his head, then turned his back and walked from the room. What a loud and clear ‘no, thank you’ that had been. Her poor heart had shattered. Since then, their only contact had been professional as she tried desperately to reverse his mutation before it killed him as it had all his original lab mates in the illegal transgenetic experiment forced upon him.

He watched her, clearly puzzled by her.

Taking a long breath, she tried to settle her emotions. Something strange and new allowed him to he read her expressions and emotions far too well for her peace of mind today.

“Ah-hmm.” Raising her chin, she frowned at him, challenging him.

He laughed a low growl, his eyes sparkled humor. What had gotten into him today? He seemed as reckless and on edge as she, which was most unlike his monosyllabic and reserved nature.

“I fail to see amusement in this crazy situation, guardsman.”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t see your own indignant female expression, or your pretty hair looking like ruffled feathers. You’re all too damn used to everyone around here going along with your every wish and strategy, aren’t you? It’s too damn rare that someone says ‘no’ to you.”

She threw up her hands and the bell sleeves of her robes fell up her arms. “Someone on my staff went against me by leaking the plans for a clone or you would not be here today, would you?”

“True enough.” He looked out the exterior viewscreen at the ships returning to port for the evening. “I hate like hell to disappoint you myself, but this--cloning--is an unacceptable idea. Understand that.”

He didn’t want to disappoint her? Heavens above, it was she who’d let him down here. Despite the fact that she concentrated all her thoughts and long, waking hours on curing him of the transgenic skin, nothing significant had yet come of her work.

That failure resonated with her because she still loved him as much as the first day she saw him. She caught her hands together in front to herself. Her case of love at first sight had deepened with respect for his heroic ways and the knowledge of his good-natured heart.

Unrequited love was terrible, miserable, hateful thing to live with. She sighed deeply. She couldn’t help her feelings for him. She’d tried. Months ago, she’d realized he didn’t return her passion and he never would.

That aspect of their relationship was best removed from her mind. To be only a healer at all times in her dealings with him. However, achieving distance never lasted more than a few early minutes of each rare encounter--as with this one.

“Healer?”

Her heart pounded. His mutation would win. Hane’s precious time would run out soon. He would die far too young. The pain of that bashed at her mind like boulders, urging her to do something more.

“Yes, yes, I understand you don’t want a clone made. I do understand.” She blinked back sudden tears. His face, with its beautiful sculpted angles, high cheek bones and those otherworldly silver-blue eyes searched her soul.

Some of her people, other Olandian medical professionals and healers, viewed Hane as tainted, a mutant savage, a subspecies less than human. She knew it was not his fault his DNA had been melded with another species in the illegal gene-manipulating experiments of the madman, Lendow. Nothing for him to be ashamed of.

The strange other genetics displayed itself only in the texture of his skin, which was a striking muted gray. The random-patterned scales stretched tight over his bone structure. The overall affect was alien, yet not. Exotic. Exotic was a much more appropriate word.

“We know the genetic splice, the Chimera, was injected near your left temple,” she said. “That’s where it’s strongest in replication and regeneration. Perhaps if we attack it there with grafts from a donor ...”

“You’ve learned the origin of the traits I carry then?”

She nodded. “Since your last appointment. Yes. I planned to have Healer Foxxe tell you at your next scheduled appointment, Wednesday. The most recent tests told us the guest DNA is an ancient, extinct sea mammal, related to ocean stingrays and sharks of the violet oceans of New Titan terraformed planet.”

“I know of them. Sharks, hmm? You guessed it was a fish early.”

“Yes, well, your skin appears at first glance to be reptilian, but it isn’t. Not really scales at all, but denticulate overlaps. No proof of this until recently. We found difficulty in getting an accurate genetic reading. Nothing we had in our data bases. The foreign coding, the composition of the unusual boney edge of the scales is closest to a stingray’s spine.” She slowed. “Smooth as glass, but having sharp edges if stroked the wrong way.”

He gave her a crooked, half smile. “I’ve noticed this characteristic during the process of shaving my facial hair. I’m glad to know the source of my mutation,” he said. “Thank you for that. It may give clues to why. I’ve always been a swimmer. I noticed my skin repels water well. In my first years with the Alliance, under water missions were my specialty.”

“It fits. Lendow would realize the value of that ability.” She’d heard many stories of Hane’s prowess in battling the rebellious Aldorian warlords that threatened the settlements and colonies with their ruthless, scavenging raids. Hane was a born warrior and a tireless protector.

“That’s good. Answers I hadn’t had. I’m pleased. You’ve done well, healer.”

His praise warmed her silly heart.

“Look at it this way, Healer Stoll, if you’d succeeded in curing me, I’d lose my swimming skills.” He grinned. “And when I tense up, the scales harden to body armor. Those war-fighting abilities were, no doubt, the objective of Lendow when the bastard interfered with my genome. Hell, I would’ve missed them anyway.”

“No. No. I realize you seek to appease my ... er ...disappointment, but those traits come at too great a cost. You will thrive without them.”

He remained silent.

“I’m at a loss as to how to proceed now,” she told him with grudging honesty. “You’ve told us before that Lendow’s other subjects did not survive.” Wednesday they were once again in her office for his regular visit.

“I watched them die.” His eyes looked hollow. “Some didn’t make it beyond their teens.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It was not your doing,” he said pointedly. “You will find another way.” Hane lifted his hand to his temple, drawing her attention to his glorious strands of long blue-black hair that fell past his collar to his shoulder. The gray skin and black hair made a striking color contrast, making her think of the vampires of romantic fiction. She almost expected him to have cat’s eyes.

Closing her eyes, Lexa fought the compulsion to go to him and replace the fingers at his temples with her own.

Maybe it was the skin that drew her? If she managed to cure him, made him a normal male, she viciously hoped her interest in him would wane.

She noticed Hane pressed his fingers hard to both temples now.

“Headache?”

He tried to cover it, but she saw the wash of deep pain in his eyes.

“Yes. They grow more frequent. It’s as if something intrudes on my thoughts, pushing, trying to break into my skull. A buzzing and ringing.”

“Tinnitus, perhaps. When?”

“When?”

“I mean do you associate the headaches with any particular routine?”

He grimaced and gave her a crooked smile. “You. I associate it with you. To the rare times our paths cross.”

Ouch. Meetings with her? “You ... you feel pain when talking with me?” she whispered the question. Dread of the answer made her stomach twist.

“I do.”

Well, she’d wanted him to be honest.

“It’s not your fault,” he said.

Automatically, she reached for a packet of analgesic gels from her samples and offered it to him.

He waved it away.

With her hand, she spun her convenient new-tech, floating office chair with impatience. The chair tucked itself under her desk like a kicked puppy. “You will not even allow me to help you with pain meds.”

“I know you mean well in your concern for me, Prime Healer.”

“Lexa,” she said, wasting her time with the correction, but wanting to hear him call her by her name just once. She smiled sadly. “I say we’ve been through far too much together to stand on the formality of professional titles any longer.”

He raised an eyebrow in query.

Such handsome eyebrows, he had. Lexa tried not to stare at him with the aching longing. By time and space, she never wished to cause him discomfort with her foolhardy and hopelessly romantic feelings for him—had hoped to avoid it.

As he moved to close the remaining distance between them, he mesmerized her with his elegance and masculine power. Her hands shook. Disgusted with herself, she tore her eyes from him and turned away, folding her arms at her chest. She was a proud woman and hated being so imprinted on him that her thoughts muddled and blurred when he occupied the same room, much less drew inside her circle of comfort this way. So close, she smelled his intoxicating masculine scent. The urge to flee was strong.

Her nostrils flared. All she could think of wanting him to sweep off her desk with a strong arm and shove her back there and ... do more ... so much more.

A doomed feminine fantasy.

“Healer.” Now he placed his large hands flat on her desk and leveled his spiky-lashed, silver gaze at her. Heavens alive with fire. He sought--he commanded--her full attention. She sighed, then turned and gave it to him.

She pushed the staggering images of his powerful body pressed against hers from her mind. How long had she stopped speaking, lost in an unattainable sensual fantasy?

This close to him like this, she wished she’d not spent so much time cloistered alone in her research labs, dedicated to exploring genetics. Perhaps if she’d cultivated the normal feminine skills for dealing with a handsome male? If she’d worked at learning the nuances, the colors, the music, and the smells of seduction, if she’d had more experience of normal men, she would not be so helplessly obsessed with this one in front of her.

He did not want her. Indeed, as soon as he’d refused her in the Choosing phase of Cultural Exchange Ritual almost two years ago, she should’ve found herself another male.

Suddenly, he groaned, doubling forward, head bowed, propping himself with one rigid arm on her desk. The delicate desk wobbled wildly, but then held his weight.

Alarm coursed through her. “Hane? Hane?” She grabbed the little med-scanner and rushed around the desk to check his vitals. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” He shook his head in resistance, his long hair swayed, but then he relented and allowed her touch him, to check him over. For that time, she forgot her attraction to him and became the healer that she was.

“The pain has passed,” he said at last.

Slowly his color returned. Well, to the normal color for his gray, scaled skin. His breathing returned to normal. One hand on his right bicep, she offered the pain meds again. This time he grabbed the pills and took two.

After a moment, he whispered near her ear, “What are you thinking? Why do you look so sad?”

“I ... just ... I wish you’d call me by my name. Please.” Tears burned her eyes and overflowed. She banished them with an angry swat of her free hand. She’d made this offer before but she’d never gone so far as to beg for it--or to ask when he was weakened and in pain.

He stiffened and leaned away bit, smiling sadly. “A last request of a dying man?”

“No! Of course not. That’s not it. Forget I mentioned it.”

“As I’ve said in past meetings, to call you by your given name would be disrespectful, Prime Healer.”

“Bah! What utter, old-fashioned protocol nonsense that is.” All hope of her maintaining a cool professional demeanor left her.




I’m losing hope here, dammit.

Hane jerked back his head as if hit by a blow. Regaining his calm, he looked puzzled now, worried. “You’re sure you’re well? What troubles you?”

She ground her teeth. “No ... that is ....” She waved a hand casually, but her mind screamed. I’m nearly crazy with need to help you. You’ve denied my last good hope with vetoing a clone. That’s all that’s wrong with me.

Again he moaned and held his head.




“No,” he said. “You should get some rest. You need sleep. I see it in your eyes. I’ll return another time.” Prepared to leave, Hane reached for the laser weapon he’d left resting against the chair and started to turn toward the door.

“I do not need a nap like a child!” she snapped. “I will not ... er ... we ... my staff and I will not lose you to this damned mutation. Do you hear me? The process of holding your skin in this unnatural configuration constricts you and drains away your strength more and more each day.” Her hands were fisted and white-knuckled with tension. She tried to relax them. The man wasn’t hers to worry herself sick over him. She could never have him as her mate. She’d learned that the hard way. She repeated the mental mantra. He wasn’t hers. He didn’t want her. He’d made that clear enough by rejecting her offer of bonding.

Hane jerked again and threw his head back this time. “Son of--” his expression darkened now to something reflecting hurt, his silver eyes turned to roiling mercury.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” But he grabbed the pills and took another.

“That’s enough of those. What is it? Tell me at once.”

His breathing was too fast. “Images in my head. The Choosing Ritual two years ago.”

She held her breath. “Yes?”

He was reluctant to say more. “Just now, I saw it all reform in my mind. All the detail. I felt it again. This time I felt your pain. Hell, I didn’t believe I hurt you--” His eyes sought hers.

Had he seen images of what she remembered? Impossible. She handed him a cup of water, reluctant to accept what appeared to be a paranormal phenomena. Telepathy. Mind-wave reading. She forced her mind to go blank, to think only of quiet ocean shores.

After a moment of silence, he said, “The pain recedes.” He tried to smile. Typical male, she thought--his response to pain embarrassed him. “As I said, it’s nothing.”

“Is it nothing?” The monosyllabic male hid something more from her. She knew it.

Before she could stop herself she asked, “Have you had these images of the past intrude before?”

“Yes, healer, I have. I said it’s nothing.” He had an uncooperative expression on his face now.

“Perhaps we should seek assistance with this. Some holovid rec programs do wonders for stress. We need to understand this.”

“No.”

“Fine. Fine. Fine. We’ll let it drop for now,” she said, but watched him suspiciously, knowing there was something more and he also knew it. “But it may impact your condition.”

“It impacts my condition, alright.”

More sarcasm.

“I have confidence in you,” he said. “You’re the best genetic pathologist in the Alliance of Colonies,” he was diverting them back to the former subject.

“So they tell me.” It was she who infused her tone with sarcasm this time. “A lot of damn good the distinction does me in this situation.”

“You won the Olandian Prize for achievement in your field at a young age.”

“I shared the honor with colleagues.”

“You will think of something besides cloning a man for the purpose of saving my life.”

She lifted her chin. “I could go beyond your wishes. With Alliance sanction, I could do it anyway,” she sassed like a child.

“No,” he said firmly. “I trust you not to. I’ve witnessed your creativity. You’ll think of something else.”

Thoughtfully, she picked up a stylus from her desk and held it to her mouth. “But there is someone who is a better geneticist than I am.”

“Who would that be?”

“Lendow. The flocking madman who caused your mutation in the first place.”

“By God, no! Don’t even think it.”

His eyes swirled with anger--and alarm. As she watched, the fire of his emotions washed away the last shreds of his patience.

Before he could say more she continued, “Dammit, Hane, if I could meet with Lendow and merely ask one or two--”

He slapped his large hand flat on the desk and pinned her with his forceful gaze. “You will stay away from him. Do you hear me? Healer Lendow is a dangerous and evil man. Healer ... ironic ... a title of such honor for a lunatic, don’t you think? He didn’t give a bleeding damn about the children, how they suffered as he prodded them, or how long his enhanced soldiers lived. He only cared about their performance in testing and, I suspect, the power trip of playing with us--like a god.”

Lexa looked down, unwilling to hold his eyes.

Children? He’d said children.




“Yes, children. Lexa?”

She jerked her eyes from contemplating the broken stylus--her favorite one--

made of a rare refined and polished metal.

He’d called her by her first name, after all. A spark of feminine triumph arced across her heart. And Founder’s Saints help her, he’d heard her thought. He didn’t seem to realize he’d answered her thought--not spoken words.

Hane drew up tall, and then visibly controlled himself before striding over to the expansive viewscreen to her back and left.

“I suppose I am getting desperate for ideas to come up with contacting Lendow,” she whispered. Could she find Lendow and arrange to see him? “It’s just ... your condition is outside all of the research and theoretical teachings on the subject of transgenetics, the melding two or more genetics--beyond my skills and training. I have little to no idea what Lendow did to incorporate the guest traits within your own genetic makeup--more importantly, no idea how to reverse it. But you were a child? You have specific childhood memories?”

He grinned. “Yes, I was.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Does it help you to learn I was a child and grew up? That some of the others never made it out of childhood?”

She gasped. “I’m so sorry. Yes, it helps. The Alliance thought you were a clone. Before today, I thought that too.”

He laughed harshly. “Considering the topic of today’s meeting, it’s ironic to hear you thought me a clone.”

“Yes, well ... not knowing something so basic makes a mockery of my lack of progress with your cure. This gives us a new avenue to explore. We found unexplained genetics in you. I had assumed it came with the mutation. But it may have come from another parent. A mother?”

A piece of information she hadn’t had. Heavens, she’d believed Lendow’s mutations were made on adult clones. No reason to assume they’d been adults, but the Alliance had thought so. Had told her so. Bad intelligence. How had they missed this? If they were young, Lendow had bred them, moved slowly with them. She smacked the stylus against her desk. The delicate instrument shattered from the force. But there was another genetic source, closer than grandparent DNA. His mother. “Since you’re here, let’s ... uh ... recap your treatment progress. I’ll describe the tests we’ll do next.” She had no idea how to handle this situation other than to strive for day-to-day normalcy. She didn’t want him to leave the room until she knew he what ailed him--that his headache had stopped. “Are you well today? Perhaps I should leave now. We will finish this discussion another time.”

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