A/N: It's a long nine days from Earth to Jandur and Warren questions his ability to cope with certain aspects of the journey.

Chapter 19

On Day 5, Warren woke up shaking like a leaf, damp from sweat, and fully aroused. The dream had been incredibly real – just as if he and Ztar were actually enjoying the most amazing, fiery sex. Now he needed a cold shower, but that wasn't going to happen in the middle of Volu's night without disturbing Flint. Groaning, he swung his legs over the edge of the uncomfortably hard pseudo bed he was growing to hate. He sucked in air to calm his body.

First, Ettwanae and her nearly irresistible sexual allure, then dreams of Ztar. Related? Obviously. Also likely, Warren's recent tryst with Ztar on Sat'rey had reawakened their bond. 'Jesus, why can't the universe ever cut me some slack!' He shook his head frustration.

In another vivid dream several nights earlier, Ztar was letting Warren go and it was filled with symbolism. This dream was all physical. Hot, steamy, and full of what Warren actually wanted to do with Ettwanae. Interpretation wasn't hard since he was "the man" with Ztar in the dream. That never once occurred in the five-plus imperial standard years they were together, and Warren had never desired it to be otherwise. Yet in this night's dream, their roles were reversed and Warren made love to Ztar as if Ztar were female. He rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Yep, War old boy, you want Ettwanae something bad. Dreams providing what reality denies.' Subconsciously, cravings for her were mixed up with memories and renewed longings for Ztar.

Warren came to grips with his lusty desires when it came to the Turzent long ago. No, Warren wasn't bi-sexual...with one singular exception – the man that could turn him into a quivering mass begging to get laid in less than 60 seconds. At least he had an explanation now for that wanton behavior – the metaphysical bond between them. Warren chose to believe that and not the reverse – that the bond was forged because of lusty desires for the Turzent.

The minutes of quiet contemplation had eased the pain in his groin. He stood, left his room, and padded barefoot the few steps to Flint's hoping to use the toilet without waking the kid. Volu's barely there luminescence was enough to prevent groping in the dark. Mission accomplished without so much as a grunt out of the teenager, he returned to the tiny storage/bedroom, choosing to ignore the empty stomach gnawing his mid-section.

Crawling atop the makeshift bed, he laid in the dark thinking about the woman down the hall and everything he'd learned and decided thus far. He prayed it was the right decision – that he wasn't on a fool's errand with no hope of success. Yet if he didn't try, could he live with that? On the other hand, he was putting normal life again on the back burner. For a second time, he'd asked his old friend to monitor his company in his absence. Once again, Worthington Industries' Board questioned his commitment. If he didn't own controlling stock, they'd have ousted him out by now.

Before sleep began to dispel conscious thought, he reassured himself he could return home anytime if things didn't go well. A vision of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz popped into his half-asleep brain, clicking her heels saying, "There's no place like home." The odd thing – Ztar and Ettwanae were standing in the background.

###

Day 8 found Warren lamenting for the umpteenth time the two things he disliked most about space travel – boredom and confinement. Jandur was nine imperial days from Earth at Volu's best speed. Nine days of being cooped up inside a ship that knew your every move, with an 18-year-old wisecracking Human, a bookish Alcab, and an Eshaaru that was driving his libido to the edge of frenzied. Each day only served to strengthen the Aru demand. There was no escape from the incessant sexual prodding. He was tighter than a violin string and mentally exhausted from constantly holding himself in check. One more day before they reached Jandur. One more day of a new kind of torture.

"Jesus, Worthington, what were you thinking!" he said aloud to himself in the bowels of Volu's lower level stores. It was as far away as he could physically get from Ettwanae and not be in the void of space. 'Sometimes, War ol' boy, you need to have your head examined.' That thought he kept to himself, still trying to remember that Volu heard everything – every muttering, each sigh, all the quiet groans he emitted when his mind drifted into daydreams of what he desired to do with Ettwanae. With a body that seemed dead set on being in a consent state of arousal, Warren had visited the bathroom more times over the past eight days to "relieve himself" than he'd ever admit.

He'd like to sit and talk with Ettwanae, get to know her more, but it was far too uncomfortable. Their talk on day two while helping her preen apparently triggered a sharp escalation in libido. He'd not repeat that mistake. It was the first harsh clue that their journey could end up feeling like an eternity. Shortly thereafter, he'd sought refuge in the lower level storage bay for the first time.

Sitting on a cargo tub in the corner, Warren took brief measure of the contrast between his current life and life of a year ago. While on Sat'rey, he had all the sex he wanted and then some. With another man, true, but his Turzent bedmate was incredibly skilled in the art of lovemaking, and the fact that Warren was straight hadn't really mattered. Sex with Ztar was amazing. Then he returned to Earth and sex was sporadic and unfulfilling. His two Human lovers couldn't match Ztar's abilities and left Warren frustrated and wanting. Now he found someone – rather, she found him – who promised to surpass Ztar, but they were being denied those pleasures by unseen forces from within themselves. He'd gone from white-hot sex, to frustrating sex, to no sex and tortured.

'You're cursed, Worthington. Somewhere along the line, you were hexed.' He let out a grunt at the thought. The next day, they'd be at Jandur and it was none too soon. He needed to get some distance between himself and Ettwanae for a while or risk losing all control…and maybe his sanity. The only thing that had kept them separated was the vivid memory of where amorous indulgence would lead.

'Beginning to think the pain would be a relief!' he muttered silently as he shifted uncomfortably on the crate he had commandeered as a chair. He found reading took his mind off that which he desperately wanted / wanted to escape from. With few pastimes available, Volu had kindly downloaded volumes of reading material and computer games to his PI. Out of apparent pity, the ship had relented and allowed Warren to use those functions of the device, but not the communication feature – those she insisted remain offline. In the span of just eight days, Warren's existence was reduced to reclusive reading in the back corner of the cargo hold.

His go-to distraction wasn't working on the next to last day before Jandur and irritability was escalating. No sitting position was comfortable. No recess within Volu was far enough away. The need to copulate had grown to an intensely burning, maddening itch he couldn't scratch. With a growl, he left his perch and began pacing the bay. He wanted his refuge that was the sky. He wanted his own bed. He wanted to not feel the gut-twisting lust.

'God, you're a moron, War,' he fumed. 'Should turn around right now and head back to Earth. Ridiculous! This whole damn quest is ludicrous! Rather live with the nannites than this shit.' Warren allowed his anger to flare. It helped mask the need. 'What were you thinking?' He threw up his hands in silent emphasis. 'Out in space trying to find some mystical library with a smartass kid and two alien women barely out of teenhood themselves, one of which you want to throw down on the nearest horizontal surface and fuck her brains out!'

He stormed back and forth, not caring if Volu was watching. 'You haven't a chance in hell of getting what you want – rid of the nannites or the girl. Cut your losses and go back home!' Wings spread as his ire grew. 'Rash, illogical, foolhardy – fools errand – snipe hunt! Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Apparently, this angel is the fool!' he punctuated the thought with a swift kick to a crate. 'God, need a danger room workout or something! Beating the shit out of someone right now would feel so-o-o good.'

Warren eyed the bay. If he moved a few crates to the sides, opened up the area in the middle, he could practice some fighting moves. Then keen eyesight caught an object that could be put to good use. A pole about the right length and diameter stood at attention against the wall. Its actual purpose he didn't know or care. Snatching it up, he gauged its heft and balance. 'Feels right. Should hold up.' It'd been quite some time since he'd wielded a fighting staff. 'Probably rusty,' he believed. Setting it back down, he began clearing the center of the bay, save one tall, very heavy crate – the pending victim.

Grabbing up his new weapon, Warren circled the imaginary enemy while performing a staff front spin. Feeling very much like Don Quixote, he lunged at the static target, one end of the staff tucked under his arm and the other pointed at the target, and proceeded to beat the shit out of his sparring partner. The crate took the swipes and jabs that he followed up with a helicopter spin ending in a blow that could have easily crushed a skull. Warren spun the rod around his body, tucking his wings close without conscious thought. He danced and dodged make-believe countermoves by his opponent, becoming a blur of fluid motion. The techniques he'd learned and practiced for years came easily and if the crate had been alive, it wouldn't have been for long.

After several minutes of pummeling his victim, he brought the staff to rest with a hard rap of one end to the floor, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. "Better," he said in satisfaction and relief. The gnawing need that had driven him to violence was tamed. For the time being, anyway.

"Warren?" Volu's almost hesitant voice wafted through the bay.

He'd forgotten for a while that he had an audience. "Yes?"

"That was impressive."

"Thanks."

"You have a lot of experience fighting." It was more statement than question.

Warren grinned. "You could say that," he replied.

"Your skill could be invaluable. Flint mentioned you belong to a group called the X-men. He told me the X-men kick ass, in his words."

Warren chuckled, "Yep – bad guy asses. But it's past tense. Haven't been an active X-man for a while now." He headed toward the small lift, needing a quick snack from the galley and then a shower.

"Tell me about it?"

"Another time, Volu. Right now, I'm hungry." Someday, he might share stories, but not that day.

Just as he was about to step onto the platform that would raise him to the second level, the Eshaar'ne spoke again. "The need will ease, but only so much." He stopped. "It will become easier, Warren, but the longing will not go away completely. It will ebb and flow for both of you. Ura – lifewill…your soul, has determined you and Ettwanae are to be as one. Through Aru, it will insist on compliance."

'While denying that very compliance – sadistic!' he riled silently, but calmed himself immediately. 'Are you strong enough for this?' he asked himself. 'Don't know.' The answer was truthful. The dangling carrots of freedom from the nannites and having Ettwanae in his arms were powerful incentives. He hoped they would give him enough strength to see their mission to its end.

"Then I guess the sparring ring needs to remain. Nothing like giving a no-good crate an ass-kicking to take my mind off what I can't have."

Impossible to explain, but Warren felt the ship smiled. "Then remain it shall. Perhaps a certain young Human can be taught some of your fighting techniques."

"He said something about that?" Warren guessed.

"The exact words were 'You think War would teach me a few moves? Not that I need lessons – can handle myself, but maybe I could add a couple new weapons to my arsenal.' "

That made Warren laugh. "Flint's cockiness will be his undoing."

"One of his more endearing traits." There was no missing the sarcasm.

Warren stepped onto the lift and it began the ascent. "Might be a good idea if everyone got some training."

"Flint and Ettwanae are good candidates. Gatebi will be resistant. She is not a fighter."

He moved off the platform and headed for the galley, hearing laughter immediately – her laughter, coming from that very room. He swallowed. "Perhaps defensive moves would be appropriate for both student and teacher," he suggested, wondering if the ship would pick up the double meaning. He was just steps from the galley and he steeled himself to be in her presence once again.

"Defensive capability is helpful under a variety of circumstances," Volu replied.

Warren grinned. She got it. And he walked into the galley where his defensive skills in the emotional and self-control arena would be tested yet again.

###

The next day, Volu slipped gently through Jandur space and atmosphere without problems, her phased state safeguarding them from system and planetary defenses. She explained a slow decent would make her appear as only a small, harmless atmospheric disturbance. Hunkered down outside the metropolitan area known as Reiis, they finalized plans for a visit to the museum where Ettwanae last saw the amulet's memory nodes. Everyone gathered in the galley for a quick meal before putting their plan into motion. The museum would be closing in less than two standard hours according to the intel Volu had gathered.

"And you're certain the nodes aren't there."

"My sensors do not detect them, Warren. It is possible someone has developed shields that block their energy signature, but it is unlikely. That would take technology few possess."

"I can think of a couple groups," Warren offered. He did not have to mention the Shozen or Etagllot by name.

"True," the Eshaar'ne admitted. "Yet even if I was unable to penetrate such shielding, I would detect its presence. I detect no such high-level shielding within the museum."

"I saw the thief myself. I know they were stolen," Ettwanae added.

"You should not reveal that to the curator," Gatebi suggested. "Doing so could raise unnecessary suspicions. Let the curator tell you they are missing."

"Good point," Warren agreed with a nod. "In fact, we should start out using the same story you gave him last time, unless there's some reason not to," he said catching Ettwanae's look. She shook her head. "Then that's our starting point. You're still a student researcher looking for information. I'll stay back in reserve."

"You sure me and Gabby shouldn't go? We could hang around like we're lookin' at stuff just in case you need backup."

Warren knew Flint wanted in on the action. Hopefully, there'd be no action to get in on. "This is an information gathering mission and I'm hoping to avoid trouble, but if there is any, it's better strategy if we're not all in the same location. Volu will be monitoring and alert you if we run into problems."

"Then we come in guns blazin', right?"

The glint in the teen's eyes was not what Warren wanted to see, but he wouldn't squash Flint's enthusiasm too much. "Well, perhaps a more stealth approach would be better, but that's the general idea."

"Don't ya worry, guys. We've got your backs," Flint proclaimed gesturing to indicate himself, Gatebi, and Volu.

Details where hammered out as they finished a quick pre-mission meal. With the museum's business day coming to a close, they headed out; Ettwanae in her Sat'reyan disguise and Warren's wings strapped to his body by his harness and hidden beneath a custom-tailored overcoat. Ettwanae's reaction to the harness was almost horror. "How can you wear such a thing?" she'd asked in disbelief.

"You do what you must to blend in," he replied simply. He hadn't used an image inducer since his blue-skinned days – it just wasn't reliable enough. The harness and coat were trustworthy.

Volu had summoned an AI-controlled surface transport vehicle, or ASurT, to their location. Warren had earlier wondered about flying over to the museum, but quickly realized how dangerous that would be. Not only was the air above the city filled with air-cabs, shuttles, and courier 'shots' as they were apparently called, but airspace this close to the populace area was blanketed with traffic control scanners. A feather would be hard pressed to slip through unnoticed, Volu pointed out. And so they would travel to the museum via Jandur's version of a taxi. Volu would fake out the AI into thinking they paid the fare and ensure the ASurT stayed at its post until they were ready to leave the museum.

As they stepped out of Volu to await the ASurT, Warren looked longingly to the sky and his folded wings immediately ached for release. 'First the museum, then indulges,' he promised himself. Tearing his eyes away from beckoning teal-green firmament, he refocused on their ground-level surroundings – an open field not far from a roadway. Surface vehicles were zipping by at dizzying speeds. Most appeared to be automated cargo-haulers, which held some resemblance trains. He had seen them on Sat'rey and if the same on Jandur, they carried no passengers or personnel.

Warren turned back to the ship. "Can Volu decloak visually without revealing herself too much?" he asked Ettwanae.

After a momentary pause, Ettwanae nodded. "Volu says for a few seconds. Why?"

"Haven't really paid much attention to her exterior. I'd like another look, if she doesn't mind."

The air rippled like a desert mirage and Volu suddenly loomed before them. Warren took several steps back to take in the sight more fully and then began circling around to one side. Her graceful, curving, sculpted form was generally an equilateral triangle lying flat, rising higher in the center where the living quarters were contained, and tapering sharply to two narrow side points, almost like sweeping fins or wings. The third point trailed behind her, extending out to a long tip, almost like a tail. At the end of the tail was a flat, elongated oval attachment. Overall, Volu very much reminded Warren of a stingray, only she swam in the oceans of space.

There were no protrusions or anything to suggest windows, hatches, or other typical external ship's appurtenances. She rested on her belly – no landing gear. Warren estimated her overall length and width at roughly 70 feet and her height at the tallest point about 20 feet. He drew a hand along the leading edge of one fin. The surface was hard, glass smooth, and a buckskin tan. Volu suddenly disappeared from sight, startling Warren. He thought he could still feel her, but the sensation was odd – like knowing you were touching something, but your skin was numb.

"Volu says she needed to phase," Ettwanae informed.

Just then, an ASurT left the roadway and began barreling its way across the field to their location. "Time to go," he announced.

###

A/N: The final paragraphs are thanks to xrystofer pointing out I hadn't yet described Volu's exterior. Her outward appearance was briefly explained in Circle Complete, but I completely overlooked that in this book. See how important reader feedback is?

Next time: The curator on Jandur is not keen on answering Ettwanae's questions, forcing Warren to employ more persuasive tactics.