Chapter Ten

Early morning in the Hollows was eerily quiet. Closer to town, storekeepers' rattled open chain-link locks, mothers rushed to get less than eager children to school, and servants scurried to their morning errands. The Hollows still felt sleepy, as if most of its inhabitants were still nestled inside the makeshift tents and trailers, sleeping off whatever vice they had partaken in the night before, not yet ready to creep back into their normal lives. Amanda made her way down the wide, deserted street toward the NeedWant, where bikes and rollers were still parked outside, waiting to be reclaimed by their owners. The morning sun hit only the tops of the high, cement walls as Amanda made her way to the side of the building and let herself into the marked door that led up to Kenya's private studio. The key Kenya gave her was rarely used; although Amanda was no stranger to the NeedWant, she rarely ventured to her sister's quarters. She climbed the narrow stairs to the top landing, and hovered outside Kenya's door, having learned from many awkward interruptions that she should knock before entering.

Kenya swung open the door a few moments after Amanda's persistent knock, glinting at her through half-shut eyes that were still caked with mascara, and turned away without a word, the hem of her black robe floating behind her. "Amanda, you know we don't keep the same hours. What are you doing here this early?"

Amanda followed her inside, the dragon on the back of Kenya's robe staring back at her, red fire coming from its mouth. "It's not that early."

"Well, I know you didn't come here to have breakfast." Kenya pushed a strand of thick, black hair behind her ear. "The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can get back to sleep."

Fortunately for Kenya, Amanda was in no mood to waste time, either, and she launched into the real reason she had come. "Last night, Datak was here, wasn't he?"

Kenya rolled her eyes, giving an irritated chuckle as she tossed her head, padding into the kitchen on her bare feet. Whatever Amanda was trying to get at would require caffeine. "Are you keeping track of Datak's night life now? Isn't that his wife's job?"

The retort bothered her, but it shouldn't have, and Amanda masked her annoyance with impatience, following Kenya into the narrow, galley kitchen. "I'm serious. Did he bring another guest with him last night?"

Kenya filled a small kettle with water, giving a prurient glance over her shoulder. Amanda was fishing for something serious, but that didn't make Kenya any more willing to give up private information. "I have an understanding with clients, Amanda, you know that. I don't give away identities, or who they bring, or what they discuss. If you haven't noticed, confidentiality is important at a sex club."

After her night, Amanda was in no mood to exercise patience, and she sighed, tossing her head with a parental air. "Oh come on, Kenya, don't be ridiculous. This is a matter of town security."

"Don't go all high and mighty on me." Kenya eyed her accusingly as she crossed to the refrigerator. "You know my rules." She pulled out a loaf of bread, tossing one slice into the antique toaster on the counter. "You want?"

Amanda shook her head, placing her palms on the edge of the narrow counter, it's surface cool against her skin. "Look, Kenya, I'm not here as your sister, I'm here as the goddamn Mayor who is trying to prevent another attack. I need you to cooperate with me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," Amanda pressed, recognizing the whine in her tone that only a younger sister could bring out, a pitch somewhere lower than anger, but higher than mere irritation. She cleared her throat, trying again. "I wouldn't be asking you this if I didn't need to know."

Kenya huffed her way to the stove. "I can't. Datak expressly requested that I keep quiet about his visitor."

Amanda followed her, edging around the counter, the new information egging the constant, low-bubbling anger that she felt towards Datak. It was as if he was coming from all sides, throwing everyone she loved into a bad position, and she hated him for it. "What do you mean? What did he say to you? Did he threaten you?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Bee." Kenya's back was turned, as if she was intentionally avoiding eye contact, and Amanda recognized that particular pattern from their first years in Defiance, when her sister fell into the always bullying, sometimes abusive arms of Hunter Bell. It had taken years to finally get him out of their lives, and although Kenya didn't see it the same way, Amanda considered his sudden disappearance a stroke of good fortune. Amanda's eyes flitted across Kenya's body, searching for the telltale signs of abuse, and she locked onto a faint, but pertinent discoloring along Kenya's wrist.

"Kenya - " Amanda grabbed her arm, gently, turning her around to face her, trying to read her face, but her sister also an expert at hiding her emotions with a thin veneer of cool, a trait that ran through the Rosewater clan. "Did Datak do this?"

Kenya jerked from her grasp, rolling her eyes. "Jesus, Amanda, you need to relax. I couldn't find my padded handcuffs." She caught the judgmental, but curious look in Amanda's eye, and changed the subject. "Look, Datak and I have an understanding, and as a client, he retains certain privileges. And so do his guests."

"Was his name Birch?" Amanda asked, not giving up. "Do you know that this same Birch is behind the Volge attack? That he was involved in Luke's murder?" She let her remarks sink in before continuing. "All I'm asking is that you tell me if he mentioned any specifics about when he was leaving town, that's all."

"He sent the Volge?" Kenya asked, confused, her eyes darting across the floor. "He didn't fuck like a man who could have sent the Volge, that's for sure." The joke was typical Kenya, but underneath the facade, Amanda could see her resolve breaking down, a small, disgusted shudder running across her shoulders. "Datak is in on this?"

Amanda shrugged. "I'm not sure what Datak knows or what he doesn't know. Did either of them say anything about where they were going next? Did they mention the Earth Republic?"

Kenya shook her head. "No. He said he used to work at Echelon."

"That's damn close enough to the Earth Republic," Amanda replied, Echelon only adding another strand of information to the web of lies she was trying to unravel. "They supply most of their weapons."

"I did overhear them saying that Nicky was in town," Kenya recalled. "Maybe you'd have better luck talking this through with her."

Even the mere mention of Nicky's name still cut deep, slicing open the anger that Amanda had tried to seal away with half a bottle of scotch the previous night, but to no avail. She didn't try to hide her disdain from Kenya. "Nicky is working with them," she said, the words still plasticky on her tongue, as if manufactured by another reality. "She's behind all of this: Luke's murder, the Volge attack. All of it."

Kenya reeled backwards, a physical manifestation of her disbelief. "What? How could she do something like that to a town that she built herself?"

"I don't know," Amanda mumbled, not wanting to spend more time than she had to questioning Nicky's motives. She'd spent the entire night doing that, and it had gotten her nothing but a pounding headache and bags under her eyes. The toaster gave a loud ping as the one slice of bread popped out of its slot, nearly landing on the counter. Kenya didn't move to retrieve it, instead walking the few paces to Amanda, putting a hand on her forearm.

"I'm sorry, Bee. Are you okay?"

Amanda nodded, looking up at her with the same steely eyes that had always comforted Kenya. "Nothing left to do but to - "

"Move on and move out," Kenya finished, the saying a shared thing between them, a philosophy that had carried them through most of their time together during the Wars. "But, Nicky... I know you looked up to her, Amanda, especially after Mom - "

"She turned out exactly like Mom." Kenya stopped short, her wide eyes freezing, and Amanda immediately regretted her words.

"What did you say?"

Her fatigue was making her sloppy, and Amanda rose from the counter and tossed the piece of toast on a plate, Kenya's accusing, inquisitive eyes following her. "Nothing," she backtracked, placing the plate on the counter in front of her sister. "I meant, I lost her, too. Just like mom."

Kenya still stared suspiciously at her. "That's not what you said. You said - "

"Look, Kenya, I'm exhausted, so don't parse whatever I said too hard, okay? Right now, I've got bigger problems than to play semantics with you." She didn't like herself, or her attitude, or the way that her words made Kenya frown. She sighed, cursing herself under her breath. "I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry, you're tired." Kenya looked up at her, the frown turning into one of sympathy rather than hurt. "Nolan knows about this, right? About Nicky?"

Amanda nodded, moving to the refrigerator, intent on keeping her hands moving. She pulled out a jar of peanut butter and began spreading it over Kenya's toast, a breakfast habit her sister had kept for years. The simple task, and the memories that came with it, helped her feel a touch lighter.

"Want me to come over tonight?" Kenya asked, perching on the counter. "I can make you a real dinner, at least."

Amanda smiled. "You don't have clients?"

"Fuck my clients." Kenya cocked her head. "Or, I'll get someone else to fuck my clients." She grinned, and for the first time in a long while, Amanda laughed, taking a bite out of the toast, a tradition of her own that consistently irritated Kenya. Today was no different, and Kenya frowned, pulling the toast to her side of the counter.

"I'll see you tonight, then," Amanda said, moving towards the door. "If anything comes up, just - "

"Nothing will come up," Kenya returned matter-of-factly. "I'll see you tonight."

Amanda nodded, accepting the steadfast promise for what it was, which was only an intention, at least until a client popped up, or something more interesting came along at the NeedWant. Over the years, Amanda had become adept at hiding the small snips of disappointment that cut into her whenever Kenya bailed on her, offering excuses of the caliber usually reserved for a parent rather than a sister. The times Amanda enjoyed best, though, were the ones where she forgot her responsibilities to Kenya, and instead simply drifted back into the innocent bond they shared before New Earth changed everything for them.

It was ten minutes until eight when Amanda hit the street again, the sun now a bit higher in the sky, but the morning still retained its coolness. She had originally agreed to meet Stahma that morning, but now there was no need. Still, Amanda wished she had kept the original plan, if only to have a concrete excuse to see Stahma. Feeling foolish, she headed towards the tailor's shop anyway, which was certainly near enough to the Darby building that she could play off her optimism by simply walking into her office. Around her, people went about their daily tasks, oblivious to the threat surrounding them, which Amanda carried like a weighted ball bearing in her chest. As she came to the small, square tailor's shop, its tin roof glinting in the sun, an inner voice scoffed at her naiveté, and she turned, irritated at her own hopefulness.

"Amanda."

She turned, that hopefulness stubbornly rearing its head again, and saw Stahma standing at the corner of the store. Amanda stepped towards her. "I would say that I didn't expect to see you here," she said. "But, we both know that would be a lie."

Stahma smiled, squinting into the sun, her eyes a soft purple. "I decided to take a chance on my morning walk." It was partly true; she woke up that morning with an expressed desire to see Amanda, a yearning so strong that it frightened her. Their romance had begun to change her, and she found herself repeatedly helpless against her own need.

Amanda took a moment to glance around the periphery, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, but something prickled a sixth sense inside her, and she gestured toward the door, which still had a "CLOSED" sign posted on its glass. Ignoring it, they walked into the shop, its interior empty except for the lone Liberata behind the counter. "Well," he said, his furry lips curling into a smile. "Double royalty at the same time."

Stahma smiled, nodding politely at him. "Chuckie, I realize you're not open yet, but I was actually stopping by to see if you had accumulated enough scraps for me to take to the Casti Sewing Society? We'd like to increase our donation to the Riordan Fund from last year, but we're running low on extra fabric." She felt Amanda's eyes on her. "This year, the Mayor is volunteering to help us."

Amanda nodded, playing along. Stahma was always a step ahead of everyone else, covering her tracks before they were even made. If she weren't limited by her own race's customs, she would have certainly been a political figure.

Chuckie eased from behind the counter. "You know I'm always ready to help out with a good cause." He motioned her to follow him. "Mayor, you should see what those women do with my scraps."

Amanda raised an eyebrow at Stahma as she followed them. "Oh, I have," she gushed. "Absolutely wonderful work. And so helpful to the less fortunate in our community."

Chuckie led them to a small back room, where piles of colorful fabric lay stacked atop one another, rainbow-colored, scrappy mounds, some has high as Stahma's waist. "Take a look, and let me know how much you need. I can arrange a drop-off at the center, no problem."

"Thank you, Chuckie."

He nodded, smiling as he left them, his footsteps padding down the narrow, tiled hall. Stahma eyed the doorway carefully, aware there was no door to the small room they were in, but still bent to press a light, fleeting kiss against Amanda's lips. "Did you sleep last night?"

"No," Amanda answered, Stahma's scent momentarily overpowering the smell of old, slightly damp cloth. "Did you?"

"Heavens no," Stahma echoed. "I couldn't even think about falling asleep until Datak got home. He was perfectly himself, but I laid awake all night waiting for him to turn over and uncover my deceit." She shook her head. "He left this morning for work, his usual routine. Nothing was amiss."

Footsteps padded back down the hallway, and Stahma put an extra step between the two of them as Chuckie peered into the room, his furry eyebrows raised questioningly at them. "I'm walking next door to get a coffee before I open the shop. Can I get you ladies anything?"

Stahma shook her head, but Amanda nodded, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a scrib coin. "Coffee, black," she said, tossing it to him. "It's on me."

Chuckie held up the coin at her in a tacit thanks, turning back down the hallway. Amanda waited for the bell at the front door to signal his exit before she continued. "Have Birch and Nicky left town?"

"I'm not certain. I haven't heard Datak speak to either of them since they left last night. But, I do know they're more than likely staying at the Inn." Stahma searched for any sign of the grief that had racked Amanda the night before, but other than the telltale tiredness, her eyes were as hard as emeralds. "Amanda, for what it's worth, Nicky did seem to hold some remorse. Whatever ambition is pushing her to do this, it's not because of a lack of love for you."

Amanda's overt laughter didn't surprise Stahma. Humans didn't appreciate complexity, an oversight that struck her as odd, one that kept them from fully comprehending the nuances of what held the world together: love, betrayal, balance. "I don't care," Amanda scoffed. "The only thing I care about is saving Defiance. Nicky can shove her love up her shtakhole, for all it's worth to me."

"Love doesn't simply disappear overnight."

"No, I guess it doesn't," Amanda answered, her words taking on a new meaning. "But, I don't plan on sticking by the people that hurt me."

Stahma let the dig pass with a small smile. "Are you suggesting that I do?"

"I listened to the tape again, Stahma. The part where Datak responds to Nicky and Birch, in all probability agreeing to help them find the key, is muffled over. Even if I did want to turn him over to the E-Reps, there would be nothing on him."

"You always knew of my intentions around Datak."

Amanda studied her with a pair of hard, judgmental eyes. "All this time, Stahma, I suspected you were the one pulling the strings with Datak. But, you're not, are you? He's got you coiled so tightly in fear at what he's capable of, that you wouldn't dare cross him." Stahma avoided her gaze, and Amanda knew she had hit the truth. "That's not power."

Stahma's voice was suddenly icy, as cool as the chill that ran through her. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"You have a chance to live your own life. If you implicate Datak in treason against the Earth Republic, he's out of your life. With Alak of age, you wouldn't get direct control of Datak's assets, but you could at least have more of a shot of being treated equally."

"And shunned," Stahma hissed, the mere suggestion of that level of freedom such an out of reach dream that it inspired only repulsion from her. "I came here this morning because I wanted to see if you were okay, not to be insulted." She took a step away from Amanda, fingering a piece of red, tattered cloth. "I chose my path a long time ago," she continued, her voice even and emotionless. "We both must be content with what we have."

Amanda took the few steps over to her, leaving little space between them, and pressed Stahma back against the large pile of scraps, the red cloth striking next to Stahma's pale skin. "Are you content with what you have?" Amanda asked, meeting her lips.

"Amanda - " Stahma broke contact, turning her head towards the open doorway, but Amanda guided her chin back gently with her fingers, taking her lips once again, the kiss slow, but demanding. "Are you content with the way he kisses you?" she asked lowly, moving her mouth just behind Stahma's ear, familiar with the way it made her shudder. Amanda's hatred towards Datak didn't fit with her infatuation with his wife; she needed Stahma to hate him as well, if only to make Amanda feel better about falling so deeply for her. "Are you content with the way he touches you?" She ran her fingers up the sides of Stahma's thighs, seeking purchase underneath her dress.

Stahma didn't stop her, still focused on the feel of Amanda's lips brushing her neck, her whispered words tickling her spine. She was aware of the space around her, but only in a peripheral way, her visual sense overcome by the smell of Amanda's hair, the intimacy of her words, and the feel of strong, capable fingers between her legs.

"Does he know that he doesn't even need to be inside you?" Amanda met Stahma's eyes as her fingers pressed against her. Stahma trembled against the pile of rags, her chest heaving underneath her cloak. It felt as if Amanda was punishing her and rewarding her at the same time, and rather than try to decipher between the two, she simply let her hips guide her into her touch. Amanda kissed her again, her tongue just as dominant as her fingers, which were pulling soft, panted moans from Stahma's lips. Amanda pulled away from the kiss, her mouth returning to Stahma's ear. "Does he know what you like to hear?"

Stahma's hands, which up until then had gripped and torn at the cloth at behind her, moved to Amanda's shoulders, pulling her closer, but she was too cognizant of her surroundings to give up the mounting pressure inside her. The image of herself, a woman of her liro, pressed against a pile of scraps, completely and utterly helpless against the feel of this particular Human's touch, should have made her burn with shame. Instead, she wanted those fingers on her, needed to feel what that touch represented for her: lust, longing... love.

Amanda leaned into her, whispering into her ear. ""I don't want you to be content, Stahma. I want you to be free."

A shot of intense pleasure exploded at the very place where Amanda's fingers touched her, and Stahma bucked forward. It was all the more rewarding because of its very unexpectedness, and her hands clung to Amanda's shoulders, brushing down her back. The whole ordeal had taken less than a minute, but the reminder of it still radiated between Stahma's legs, and would stay with her, she knew, throughout the morning. She breathed in Amanda's scent, kissing the edge of her collarbone. "Even though I think of you when I'm with him, and when I'm not with him, you know I can't leave him," she murmured, her voice barely audible over their heavy breathing. Leaning back, she expected disappointment, but Amanda's eyes only held a deep, honest resignation.

"I know," she sighed. Their foreheads rested together, hands intertwining at their sides.

"If you could go back, to that first morning..." Stahma flashed back to the image of Amanda at their second Armistice Day meeting: her braid draped across her shoulder, her quiet confidence, which had only been punctured by the scattering of the large stack of file folders as they spilled from her hands, littering the floor. Stahma, the only one left in the room, knelt to help her, their hands touching repeatedly, until it finally seemed as if they were intentionally going out of their way to make contact with one another. Stahma moved her hand up to Amanda's braid, the touch bringing her back to the present. "Would you have stopped me?"

Amanda recalled how Stahma had taken her hand, leading her into a side room in the banquet hall. Her heart had been pounding, to the point where Amanda was certain the sound of it was what brought out the small, sly smile Stahma gave as she leaned in to kiss her. "No," she replied softly, staring back at her. "I wouldn't have stopped you."

The bell at the front door rang again, and Stahma let her hands fall reluctantly back to her sides. "Your dreadful coffee is here," she whispered, her eyes drifting to the doorway, where she knew Chuckie would momentarily appear. She leaned in, kissing Amanda's lips. "Until next time." She walked toward the door, but turned back. "Aren't you coming? You have to pretend to care about these dreadful scraps, too."

Amanda laughed lightly, but followed her. "I'd say as a Castithan, little white lies are your territory."

"Human puns are never as humorous as you all believe they are." Stahma glanced back at her with a stoic face, but a smile slipped through soon enough, and as the two of them shared another laugh together, she wished she could preserve the light, buoyant feeling that seemed to lift her off the ground. As soon as she left the shop, and returned home, she would come crashing back to New Earth, but that was a reality that she was content to push away for another few moments.

Amanda spent the rest of her morning inside her office, catching up on some badly attended paperwork that had been left to pile up on her desk: the never-ending pages that required her signature, which required her to understand them, which required her to actually read them. Well after lunch, she finally stabbed her pen into the last document, a sigh of accomplishment floating over her desk. Her peace, however, was short-lived, as Nolan appeared in her doorway, his boots just as muddied as hers were the first time they visited the Old City.

She stared at him accusingly, eyeing the mud he tracked across her carpet. "Did you go to the mines without me?"

"I did," he replied, sinking into one of the chairs in front of her desk, wishing it had a little more padding to offer his sore back. He ignored her poignant stare. "You don't need to be trucking it around down in the mines."

"Why not?"

"You're too pretty." He didn't wait for her reprimand, which he was sure was coming, judging by the look on her face. "You want to continue to pout, or you want me to tell you what I found?"

"Tell me what you found, and then I'll pout."

"It's a plan." He grinned. "When's the last time Defiance had a terraquake?"

Amanda calculated the years in her head. "Probably twelve years or so. Kenya and I weren't even here, we were still in New York. Why?"

Nolan nodded. "That follows with what we found. Looks like Quentin uncovered a passageway in the mines that had been intact prior to the last terraquake. Makes sense now why it was nowhere on Rafe's maps. He never saw it. But, it was on Quentin's." He stood, eyeing Amanda's bottle of scotch, but thought better of it. "The passageway backs right into the nuclear plant."

Amanda wove her fingers together, pressing them against her lips. "So, what, Birch and Nicky know about this mine shaft that even Rafe knows nothing about?"

"Seems that way. But, it's what's on the floor that's the kicker."

Amanda glanced down at his shoes. "Let me guess, mud?"

Nolan shook his head. "Etchings. One that looks exactly like the artifact we found, painted right there on the ground, like some sort of marker. And on the sides, two Indogene symbols. One for mind, one for brain."

Amanda stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to process what he was telling her, but she came up short. "I'm more confused now than when we started."

Nolan sighed. "You too, huh?"

Amanda tapped her fingers on her desk. "Doc said that the Eighth Race technology wasn't about reverse terraforming at all. She said it was about the brain. Mind control. I was really hoping against this, but what if we've actually stumbled on something bigger than we ever imagined?"

"You said Doc told you this?"

Amanda nodded, getting up from her chair and walking over to the bookshelf at the edge of the wall. She bent over, searching for a volume that she'd seen Nicky peruse only once, but it was nowhere to be found, and cursed lightly under her breath. "Nicky used to have a volume, written in Votan, about the science of the Indogene mind. It's not here anymore." She hit the bookcase, frustrated. "Damn her."

Nolan recognized the pent up anger that came through in Amanda's closed fist, but before he could call her on it, Lana peered through the doorway. "Mayor, the Mayor is here to see you." She grinned. "I love saying that."

Amanda felt her stomach drop, like an anchor weighting it to the floor, and her pulse kicked up a notch. "What?"

"Mayor Nicky. She's back in town and she stopped by to see you. I told her you were in with the Lawkeeper, but I didn't want to keep her waiting."

Amanda felt Nolan's eyes on her, and she couldn't help but meet them. "You want me to stay?" he asked, his chest swelling with a protective concern.

She shook her head, plastering a smile on her face for Lana's benefit only. "No, no, I think we're done here for now," she answered. "It's best if we continue this at the precinct, anyway." He looked as if he wasn't intent on leaving, but Amanda motioned her head towards the door, and he followed Lana, looking back at her before he left. "Chup her," he mouthed, winning an anxious half-smile from Amanda.

She bristled as Nicky stepped into her office, a bright blue pantsuit contrasting with the whiteness of her hair. "I'm beginning to think you're trying to check up on me," Amanda said with a forced laugh, not immediately embracing her former mentor, but after a moment she moved forward, if only to keep some semblance of normality. Nicky's lips on her cheek were cold and puckered, the warmth that they used to hold completely gone. Amanda pulled back, studying her, in some way trying to reconcile the woman she saw before her with the same woman that had shown such care for her over the past eight years. To go from meaning something to her to meaning nothing to harkened back to that fateful day with her own mother, who hadn't turned back, not even once, to glance at the daughter she left behind. Amanda turned towards her desk, if only to have an excuse to look away.

"I had lunch with Rafe today," Nicky offered, her eyes darting to the hourglass that sat on the credenza, her favored piece of art from her office, now for more reasons than one. "He said that Nolan recovered the artifact Luke found. The one that got him killed." The blue of her eyes flashed with an interested hunger. "I guess that means you're close to figuring out who was behind the murder."

Even if Amanda had warned Rafe to be discreet about the investigation, he never would have considered Nicky suspicious. Still, she felt the thread of her plan unravel a bit further. "Nolan did recover it," she confirmed. "We sent it to the Earth Republic Research Administration for further input." The lie grew, sounding better, more plausible as she told it. "The last thing I need is for someone to destroy the town looking for some piece of scavenged arkfall." She gave Nicky a tired smile, hoping it sounded just as good to her ears as it did to her own. "Right?"

Nicky didn't respond right away, absorbing the twist that their game had taken. "I suppose so," she said with a cunning smile. "And that, my dear, is exactly why I left Defiance in your capable hands." She strutted towards the scotch container, glancing at Amanda for tacit permission to pour them both a drink.

"How long are you in town?" Amanda asked, innocently enough.

"Oh, I'm not sure," Nicky sighed. "It's that godforsaken estate, it just won't sell. I've been back and forth with my agent a number of times, but I should have just done the job myself. Humans are just as fickle and shady as they always were."

Amanda took the glass extended, holding it up in the air for a cheers. "You've never spoken truer words," she said, her tone harsh beneath her smile. Their glasses clinked, and Nicky took a seat.

"You're a smart girl, Amanda." She took a long, slow sip of her scotch. "Too smart to send an unknown artifact off to the Earth Republic for analysis, especially if said artifact was worth anything." Amanda walked towards the window, not making eye contact with her. "The question is, Why in the world would you lie to me about it?"

The question unfurled the edges of Amanda's composed demeanor, and for a moment, panic fluttered through her. When she turned back to Nicky, however, the older woman stared up at her with a knowing smile, raising a finger. "I know, I know. You're just looking out for me. Whoever wanted that artifact wasn't afraid to kill to get it. The less I know, the better."

Amanda let out a long, slow breath, as if someone had punctured her lungs with a small pin. "You protected this town, and me, for years. It's my job to protect you, now." She felt as if she were walking on a thin, live wire, tottering along the edges of her lies, simply trying to get to the other side. She leaned against the window, glancing out at the town below, a town she had watched grow through that very window over the past eight years. "Why did you reach out to me that day?" she asked, suddenly wanting to explore the woman that had hurt her so much. "That day in the hallway, all those years ago."

Nicky swallowed at the turn in conversation. "Well, you were scrubbing that floor so hard I was afraid you were going to wear the tile through and through. If I didn't stop you, we'd have had a hole in the middle of the Mayor's building." She chuckled, her eyes glowing with the memory, but the warmth of her recollection only hurt Amanda more. "I knew you had come from Manhattan," she said. "From the Earth Republic. And the fact that you left that... dynasty, only to wash floors..." she trailed off, her eyes glazing with the fog of the past. "Honestly, dear, I don't know what made me take a chance on you. But, I do know it was the best decision I ever made."

Amanda gave an exaggerated nod. "I'll bet."

Nicky understood the intention behind the remark, and rose, taking the last of her scotch in a quick gulp. "I must be going, or else I'm going to start itching to sign some documents or read a few memos." She had spent too much time with her old charge, and allowed too many emotions to resurface. She touched the hourglass on the credenza. "Do you mind if I take this with me?" she asked. "I'm quite fond of it."

Amanda glanced at the smooth glass, waving her hand. "Go right ahead." She never cared much for the object, the way its cascading sand only reminded her of passing moments and wasted time.

Nicky tucked it under her arm, walking towards the window, where Amanda still stood. She reached a hand out to her cheek, cupping it gently. The touch burned, but Amanda swallowed, not pulling away from it. Nicky's eyes were wistful. "My dear, I am going to miss you."

Amanda's jaw hardened under her touch, the meaning of her words not lost on either of them. "No," she whispered. "I'm the one that's going to miss you."

Nicky smiled, giving one last gentle tug at the blonde braid that hung over Amanda's shoulder. She turned, her own jaw hardening with solid resolve; her grasshopper had finally outshone her, and now, unfortunately, that light would have to be extinguished. Amanda watched her go, a small part of her hoping that Nicky would turn back, but once again, she was left disappointed.

The Tarr household was quiet without Alak around, his absence leaving a hole that Stahma couldn't fill, even with the task of replanting her garden, and she missed him. Datak had been home for awhile, but disappeared into his office, and had been holed up in the room for a few hours. As night crept over the house, Stahma knocked lightly on his door, peering in at him, where he sat with his back to her, his head angled downward. "Darling," she said, in their native language. "Ashma prepared the water. Would you like your bath now?"

He turned slowly, and she saw his transmitter in his lap, which he quickly switched off with a flick of his thumb. He smiled, but his eyes didn't. "I will join you in a few moments. Why don't you prepare for me?"

She nodded, wondering what had held his attention for so long, but she didn't expect him to share half the things he did down at the Hollows. She walked upstairs and undressed, slipping into the steaming water. Settling into the bath, Stahma let her hands drift up her thighs as her thoughts drifted inward, towards Amanda. In a few moments, Datak would join her, but for now she could let her mind wander, imagining softer hands caressing her, kissing her. Her eyes closed, and she tunneled away from her home, remembering the closeness, the feel of wet skin against skin as the two of them sat in Amanda's bathtub. Her eyes flew open as Datak entered, sliding into the bath at the opposite end, his brow crinkled in a way that did not match his usual bath demeanor.

"Is something wrong?" Stahma asked, making her way over to him, the water rippling in her wake. He didn't reply, instead moving his fingers up her stomach and caressing her breast, kneading it with an intense concentration. He continued upwards, stroking her collarbone, his fingers sliding to her neck. It was only then that Stahma caught the spark of impending rage in his eyes, a brief flash of something to come, and a twinge of fright made her rear back from him. His fingers tightened like a vice around her neck, siphoning off her air as he pushed her downwards, her feet slipping along the slick surface of the floor. In the space of a second, she was underwater, struggling against the weight of her husband's hand. Her eyes and mouth opened reflexively, and she caught his face, blurred by the troubled water.

After a few seconds, his fingers loosened, allowing her to surface. Stahma coughed, gasping in precious air as Datak let her head bob above the water, but just as the air hit her lungs, he submerged her again. With no reserves, she gulped in water, the reflex to breathe too strong to ignore. When he allowed her to surface again, her airway was still paralyzed for a long, panicked moment before she coughed, giving up water in order to take in some air. His hand stayed around her neck as he shoved her back against the side of the pool, his eyes a dark, deep gray. "How dare you defile me in such a way," he hissed.

Stahma wasn't able to respond, still gasping in air, but her labored pause only seemed to anger Datak more, and she tried, weakly, to speak. "What?" she sputtered, water still leaking from her lips. "Datak - "

"You want to cuckold me?" he yelled, slamming his hand against the tile beside her, and she jumped, imagining his fist connecting with her skin. "With Amanda Rosewater?"

Her stomach sunk, as if it was being submerged in the bath as well, and her mind flashed in a kaleidoscope of directions at once. "I didn't cuckold you," she protested, gripping the hand still strained around her neck. She had no idea what he knew, or how he knew it, but she needed him to talk, if only to keep him from hurting her.

"Where did you go last night after dinner?" Her mind reeled; someone had to have followed her, but she had been so careful. "You went to the Darby building," Datak continued, railing over whatever excuse she was attempting to cobble together.

Her thoughts were thick and slow, like molasses moving through her brain. "I - Yes, I went, Datak, but - "

"I heard the two of you. I heard everything."

That piece of information pierced the fog rolling through her head. "The office was bugged?" she asked, trying simultaneously to remember the words she and Amanda shared while coming up with some way to excuse them.

"Nicky covers her bases."

Stahma's eyes searched Datak's, looking for some reprieve from his anger. "I was simply trying to discover where she and Nolan hid the key, that's all. She trusts me." Her excuses were having some effect; Datak's eyes still blazed a hot yellow, but his breathing lengthened, and his fingers dropped from her neck. "I was simply trying to help you, that's all," she stammered. "I only wanted to help you. To help us."

Datak averted his gaze from his wife. "There's been something between us for awhile, now," he said. "Your touch, it's empty of passion. Is she the reason why?"

Stahma shook her head, her hands tentatively reaching towards his chest. "No, my love. I was simply using her last night, that's all. After Nicky mentioned the key, I thought perhaps Amanda would tell me something useful."

Datak nodded, and for a moment relief flooded through Stahma, but the feeling disappeared instantly as Datak spoke again. "I imagine its only appropriate that I pay her a visit, then."

The words latched into her like talons, ripping apart the composure Stahma had managed to keep. "Datak, no," she began, her palms flat against his chest. "You won't solve anything by harming her."

He narrowed his eyes. "Do you care for her more than you'd like to admit?"

The question was a test, and if Stahma failed it, Datak would hurt not only her, but he would certainly take his wrath to Amanda as well. "Of course not," she whispered, the lie sour on her tongue.

Datak jerked her hand underneath the water. "Prove it."

Stahma peered back at him, searching his face. "Datak..." He said nothing, but merely kept his hand on hers until she began to stroke him slowly, bile rising in her throat as he swelled at her touch. His breath becoming labored, she kept her gaze on the water behind him, unable to meet his darkened eyes. She kept up her efforts, and his breath came harder, reflecting his desire, until he turned her away from him, roughly bending her over the stairs at the side of the tub. Her knees hit the porcelain, pain spiking up her legs, and he entered her, thrusting violently. Stahma gazed vacantly ahead, focusing on a drop of water resting on the floor, the rest of the room a white blur, and she wished she could simply blur into it, ceasing to exist. His hand closed once again around her throat as he finished, pulling out of her and pulling her up and into him, whispering in her ear. He grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her up and into him, whispering into her ear. "You will not see her again. Do you understand?"

She shivered, from fear and from anger, but only nodded, thankful when he finally pushed her away from him. She shrunk against the side of the bath, watching as he rose, dripping his way to the door, which slammed behind him. The bath was suddenly silent, too silent for her to absorb the shock of his assault. She shivered in the warm water, only able to navigate the stairs after a few minutes. When she finally rose, pulling her robe tightly around her waist, she walked slowly, reluctantly, towards their bedroom. Datak was already finished dressing, pulling on a gray, tailed jacket, as if preparing for a night at the theater rather than a night of violence.

Ashma appeared at the door, and her appearance made Stahma pull her robe even tighter around her. "Master, you called?"

"Mrs. Tarr isn't feeling well tonight," Datak said, walking over to Stahma and running a hand through her wet hair. "Will you see to it that she stays in bed and gets some much needed rest?" His body was turned towards his servant, but his words flung back at Stahma with a visceral force.

Ashma nodded obediently, ducking a look at Stahma. "Of course."

As she left, Datak turned back to Stahma, pressing a kiss at the crown of her pale head. "Don't wait up," he whispered, a threat lingering behind the words. "I won't be back tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, we can discuss your betrayal in further detail. Tonight, you should thank Catsuyo that we're on New Earth and not back at home. Otherwise, I'd spill your guts right here."

He turned, but with one last burst of fight, Stahma grabbed his hand. "Hurting her won't solve anything, Datak." She was careful to keep the plea out of her tone, hoping that the words oozed logic instead.

"No," he replied with a tip of his head. "But it will make me feel so much better. Good night, my dear." He left her then, closing the bedroom door behind him with a final, sole-crushing click.

An uncontrollable shake permeated through Stahma, a reaction unlike anything she had ever experienced, and she moved towards the window that looked out at the front of the house. She waited, her fingers shaking the curtains as she held them back, until Datak's roller peeled away from the side of the house before she ran towards the stairs. Her hailer was in her purse, but her thoughts were coming too fast for her to remember where she had left it. She moved blindly toward the kitchen, ramming in to a hard, physical figure, the force of contact knocking her on her heels, and a pair of strong, vice-like arms steadied her.

"Good evening, Mrs. Tarr." Stahma recognized the guard's familiar face, remembering the last time she had seen him, and wished she hadn't chastised him so for trampling her flowers. He grinned unkindly at her. "I thought you weren't feeling well."

She knew why he was there, in her home, summoned by Datak to keep an eye on her, but she tried to move past him anyway. He blocked her way, holding up her hailer. "You wouldn't be looking for this, would you?" he asked, sticking it in his own holster. "I have strict orders, Mrs. Tarr. I suggest you go back up to bed."

Stahma took some comfort in the fact that the hailer Amanda had given her had gone unnoticed, still more than likely nestled in the bottom pocket of her satchel. She only needed to get to it. "The only orders you need to follow at the moment are mine," she said to him, hoping he didn't hear the tiny waver in her voice. She attempted to move past him again, but he stood in her path like an immovable rock, and her fists railed towards him, but he was bigger, and faster. The back of his hand connected with her mouth with a loud crack, and she tasted blood as the room spun for a few seconds. She reached for the wall, but he grabbed her arm, yanking her back toward the stairs.

Ashma appeared behind him, and he turned, tossing his hand at her. "Get the lady upstairs and clean her up," he shouted.

Stahma let Ashma lead her upstairs and into the bathroom, her jaw radiating pain. Ashma settled her gently onto the edge of the sink, trying to press a cold towel against her bleeding lip, but Stahma's breath came too fast, fueled by panic, for her to accomplish anything. After a few seconds she took both of her hands and gently framed her mistress's jaw. "What can I do to help you?" she asked, her eyes expressing a solidarity that her words could only begin to communicate.

"I have another hailer," Stahma began, the taste of blood on her tongue. "Call Amanda, tell her to go to the Lawkeeper's and to stay there." She stood, on shaky knees, ripping open the white medicinal cupboard, fishing through the myriad medications that Datak kept on hand, some left over from his days in the army, others accumulated through the black market he ran in the Hollows. She pulled open a small bottle, dumping a large, white pill in her hand. "I'll have a cup of tea," she said quietly, her hands finally ceasing their incessant shake. "But, please, make sure our guest has something as well." She handed Ashma the pill. "Do you understand what I need you to do?"

Ashma nodded, dumping the pill into the pocket of her frock. Stahma watched her leave, the taste of blood still on her lips. She pressed the wet cloth against her lip, hissing at the sting. She knew her husband. Whatever pain she felt was nothing like what he would make Amanda feel. With Ashma's help, and with a little grace, Stahma hoped she would get to her in time.

I will have the next update for you sooner than you think - until then, please let me know what you think... As always, thank you for reading!