Shattered Lives Read online

  RYMELLAN 2: SHATTERED LIVES

  Sarah Ettritch

  Published by Norn Publishing at Smashwords

  Copyright 2011 Sarah Ettritch

  All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, except for brief quotations in articles or reviews, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, Licensing Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Rymellan 2: Shattered Lives was edited by Marg Gilks

  Cover design by Boulevard Photografica/Patty G. Henderson

  Dedication

  For Kim and Helen

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to the following beta readers for their generous donation of time and their insightful comments: Rephah Berg, Jennifer Brinkman, and Robert Oliver. Thanks also to Marg Gilks, for her consistent and gentle editing, and Patty Henderson, for designing another wonderful cover.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Shattered Lives

  Besieged

  Closing Ranks

  Shields Down

  Shattered Delusions

  Author’s Note

  SHATTERED LIVES

  Lesley stared at her comm station’s screen in dismay. She’d managed three paragraphs in two hours. The case wasn’t complex; any other day she’d have already finished writing the military’s opinion and sent it to the presiding overseer. But today wasn’t just any day.

  Someone knocked at the door and opened it without waiting for an invitation to enter. Laura strode into the office, shutting the door behind her. “Do you have time to investigate a tip we just received?” she asked as she sank into one of the guest chairs and crossed her legs.

  “Yes, I do.” Lesley turned away from the comm station. “I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with this opinion.”

  “I’m surprised you agreed to write it. Isn’t Mo coming back today?”

  “Yes.” The Falcon had docked with Space Station 72 an hour and five minutes ago, to be exact. Mo would soon be sitting in a conference room at the shuttle base. Would one of the couriers call her name? Lesley swallowed and tried to focus on the conversation.

  “If you’d asked me to, I would have told Blair you were busy.”

  Lesley couldn’t blame Laura for doubting her. The first time Mo had returned to Rymel after their separation, Lesley had agreed to write an opinion, wanting to keep herself occupied. What a mistake! She’d almost missed the deadline, and reading the opinion now would probably horrify her.

  “You said you’d never try to write an opinion when Mo was on leave again. I remember it clearly. You said Interior supply patrols, yes, Defence supply patrols, yes, investigate tips, yes, opinions, no.” Laura ticked off each point on her fingers.

  “I have almost a month to write this one, and it’s straightforward.”

  Laura raised an eyebrow. “And you decided to start it today?”

  Lesley sighed. “I know, bad idea.” By now she should have accepted that her brain stopped functioning when Mo returned and only started working again when she left. At least that had been the case for Mo’s past two leaves, and it looked as if her third would have the same effect. Three tours . . . almost two years . . . “I don’t know if I want her to get her Papers today or not. Part of me wants to stop living in limbo.”

  “And the other part?”

  Lesley hesitated, but only for a second. “The other part doesn’t want it to be over.” Two years ago she never would have been that honest with Laura. But somewhere along the way, they’d become friends, despite the almost twenty-year difference between them. Lesley had grown so close to the Finney family that she’d stayed with them the last time Mo was on leave. Mo had bunked at the Military Academy over her first leave and, as far as Lesley knew, would do the same for this one. According to Michael, she couldn’t stay on the Middleton estate, not with Lesley so close. Wanting to be fair, Lesley had told Michael that they’d alternate, that she’d stay at the Military Academy the next time. But Laura’s invitation had changed her plans. You can use my son’s room—he’s at the Indoctrination Academy. And no, I’m not offering so I can keep my eye on you. I know I can trust you. The sentiment was mutual, hence her honesty. “I do know it’s over, but I guess I won’t fully accept it until the Chosen Council makes it official.”

  “You’re twenty-seven now. That’s the average age for Papers, so you might get them soon, before Mo does.”

  Ideally she would, and while Mo was on tour. The notification party, the fuss, the “celebration,” it would all be over by the time Mo returned. Lesley had decided that she wouldn’t live on the Thompson estate, even if she were the Principal. It wouldn’t be fair to Mo and their Chosens and would be a disaster in the making.

  Laura uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “I know this doesn’t mean much, but you’re doing all right, and she’s doing all right. Life did go on.”

  Perhaps, but it had lost its spark. Yes, she could become absorbed in writing an opinion or forget for an hour while she investigated a tip, but the ache was always there. She thought of Mo first thing in the morning, when she closed her eyes at night, and numerous times throughout the day. So many reminders . . . something would catch her eye or ear, and the ache would flare into an unbearable pain. She was trying to keep an open mind about building a life with her Chosen, but that life would be one gigantic lie. Lesley had learned that she could exist without Mo, but couldn’t live without her.

  But enough with the self-pity; it wouldn’t change anything. “Life did go on and I have a tip to investigate,” she said to steer the conversation away from Mo, though she knew she wasn’t fooling Laura. “What is it, exactly?”

  Laura played along. “A counsellor sent us a dispatch. Apparently she’s received a fair number of new clients lately, all coming from the same counsellor, who’s Joined.”

  Lesley waited for more, then said, “That’s it?”

  “Well, we do prefer that everyone err on the side of contacting us,” Laura said. “And I doubt anything can top the one I investigated last week.”

  Lesley chuckled.

  “How much time do we spend at the Indoctrination Academy role-playing all sorts of scenarios?” Laura stood. “Months! And people still don’t understand what’s considered flirting under CT21. I rushed all the way to A3 because someone said, ‘I like the colour of your shirt.’”

  Lesley chuckled again. The dispatch had made it sound as if two Rymellans had been caught in the act.

  “But better that than someone turning a blind eye.” Laura blew out some air, then pulled out her comm unit and tapped at its keys. “I’ve just sent you the dispatch.”

  Lesley turned back to her comm station and skimmed the missive. Sector B4. She flicked off the monitor and rolled back her chair. “I’m on my way.” With luck, investigating the tip would distract her for an hour or two. She’d already arranged to spend the evening with Karen, William, and her new nephew, Richard, and would be busy with supply assignments over the next three weeks. So perhaps she’d already weathered the toughest day and the rest of Mo’s leave would be easier to bear.

&
nbsp; As she reached for her cloak, the ache that dogged her every moment mocked her.

  *****

  Mo clapped for the officer waving an envelope in the air and stared at the single remaining courier. Please, please, let him call my name. He stepped up to the microphone and peered at the envelope in his hand. “Lieutenant Steven Hughes.” An officer three rows in front of her leaped to his feet and bounded down the aisle. She clapped again and blinked back tears.

  “Thank you, everyone, and congratulations to all who received their Papers today,” said the lieutenant who’d opened the meeting. “Dismissed.”

  She remained seated while everyone ripped open envelopes or rose to leave the room. To whom did she have to beg to receive her Papers? She’d get down on her knees in front of them, if that was what it took. She didn’t know how she’d bear another six months without Les. Sure, she could still get her Papers before she left for her next tour, but the chances of that were slim. Of course, Les could get hers anytime. No, she couldn’t; not if they were Chosens, and they were. So why hadn’t they received their Papers? Les was already twenty-seven, and Mo would be soon. What was the delay? They could have had a daughter by now, instead of sitting around waiting for life to resume. Wasn’t that the point, to have children strong in the Way? So where were their flaming Papers? Where were they?

  “Enjoy your leave, Mo,” someone shouted from the aisle as he rushed by.

  “Yeah, you too,” she said with a wave, though she hadn’t the faintest clue who’d shouted.

  Another wonderful flaming leave—three weeks of resisting the urge to beep Les, of knowing that she was so tantalizingly close, yet out of reach. Deflated, Mo collected her bag and cloak from the back of the room and headed to the shuttle base’s holding area. Time to rally herself.

  The engineer working on the craft parked next to hers gave her a smile. “Welcome back, Lieutenant Commander. The craft’s in tip-top shape. I ran all the diagnostics myself.”

  Mo forced a smile and nodded to him. “Thank you, Sub-lieutenant.” She hoisted herself into the craft, stowed her bag in a cargo container, and slipped into the pilot’s seat.

  Half an hour later, she dumped the bag on the floor of her assigned room at the Military Academy’s faculty residence. So many memories had stirred as she’d walked from her craft to the residence, but many more would flood her if she were on the estate. Les had thoughtfully stayed elsewhere last time, but where had she stayed? Papa had originally said that Les would stay at the Military Academy, but then Les had stayed with “a friend.” What friend? Papa had claimed he didn’t know who it was, that Adelaide hadn’t been specific. Had he been protecting her?

  She sat on the end of the bed with a sigh and picked at her fingernails. Wondering about Les, what she was doing, if she still cared, if she was involved with someone—Mo would only drive herself crazy, thinking that way. They were still together, she reminded herself. Though did Les still believe that, or had she moved on, discovered that life without Mo wasn’t so bad after all? Not knowing was the most difficult part, followed closely by the wasted time they’d never get back—birthdays, festivals, family events, just being there for each other. She had no idea how Les had settled into Interior, whether she loved it or hated it. Was she still playing her flute and writing music? Did she look the same?

  A couple of months ago, Mo had awakened in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, relieved that it had only been a nightmare. She’d been searching for Les, asking people on the Falcon, on the train, everywhere, “Are you Les? Are you Les?” That was her fear—that Les had changed, that she wouldn’t recognize her, that they could walk past each other and not realize it.

  Her heart pounded. She abandoned the bed for the desk and punched Papa’s comm code into the station. “It’s me, Papa,” she said as soon as he answered.

  “Mo! Welcome back. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

  She smiled.

  “So?”

  Her smile faded. “No.”

  “No? Oh, I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted them to be ready.”

  “They’ll be ready next time,” she said, sounding more optimistic than she felt. “Les hasn’t received hers, has she?” They’d promised to tell each other, but did Les still intend to honour that promise?

  “No, she hasn’t. I would have told you if she had.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Papa said indignantly. “Not only would the Thompsons tell me, but I do read the weekly announcements, especially the C3 section. You must get those on the Falcon.”

  She didn’t read them. She was supposed to, so she’d know who was off limits. The lack of a Chosen ring didn’t mean someone was fair game. Chosens were bound to each other the moment they met at their notification meetings, but didn’t receive rings until their Joining Ceremonies. But she wasn’t interested in dating anyone, and the conversations on the first day of a tour always revolved around who’d received Papers. It wasn’t difficult to keep up when someone’s status could only change when on leave.

  Plus, she dreaded seeing Les’s name on the list. She wanted to hear it from Les herself, or, if Les had forgotten about their promise, from someone like Papa. She didn’t want to find out about it as a stranger would; she deserved better than that. “I just wanted to double-check,” she said to Papa.

  “So when am I going to see you?” he asked. “Do you have to stay at the Military Academy? Why don’t you come home?”

  “Papa, we’ve been through this. I can’t come home, not with Les so close by.”

  “Even after all this time?”

  Her eyes welled. “Even after all this time,” she said faintly.

  Silence, then, “Okay, so when can I see you? Tell me and I’ll clear my schedule.”

  She brushed away a tear. “Well, I’m having supper with one of my old instructors tonight. And tomorrow I’m spending the day with a friend. I’m free after that.”

  “Spending the day with a friend, are you?”

  She could hear the curiosity in his voice. “Not that type of friend.” In fact, friend was pushing it. Argamon, she wished she wasn’t so desperate to fill her time! “How about the day after tomorrow?”

  “Done! Where should we meet? Oh, Nathan will probably come with me. And Andrew. And Barbara said—”

  “I’m here for three weeks, you know,” Mo said, brightening.

  Papa laughed. “We’re all eager to see you.”

  Her throat tightened. She looked forward to seeing them, too. If not for her family . . .

  “Why don’t we meet in C4 for lunch and then decide what to do from there?” Papa suggested. “A new eatery opened last week. One of my clients has been raving about it. I’ll make a reservation and send you the details.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Me too.” She paused. “Papa?”

  “What?”

  No, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask if he’d seen Les, or about anything related to her. Whatever he said, no matter how mundane, would only remind her that she was no longer a part of Les’s life. “Nothing. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “All right. See you then.” He terminated the connection.

  She sighed and stared at the keyboard. Her fingers twitched. Les was six keystrokes away. Six keystrokes! But not for her. What was Les doing right now? Had Les thought about her today? Did she know how close they were, that the Falcon had returned? Or was she too busy running around for Finney?

  Mo’s hands clenched. How could Les stand working with that woman? Finney better be ready with one big, fat, flaming apology when their Papers arrived. Mo would almost be inclined to move away from C3, so they could get away from her. But why should they let Finney continue to control their lives? Les would probably transfer back to Defence, and someone would eventually replace Finney. They’d be rid of her, and none too soon.

  She drew a deep breath and glanced at t
he time. Still an hour until she met Ross. She’d unpack, keep her hands busy. Those six keystrokes were awfully tempting.

  *****

  Lesley entered notes into her comm unit as she waited for Janet Tyson to arrive. Ten minutes ago, the accounting office’s receptionist had led her to this meeting room, invited her to sit, and assured her that Tyson would join her shortly. Lesley had grown accustomed to waiting for interviewees. Being summoned for an interview by an Interior officer often had Rymellans running to the bathroom or breathing into a paper bag to calm themselves. She’d learned to take advantage of the time to expand on her notes.

  She stopped typing and read over her notes regarding the interviews she’d conducted so far: Counsellor Abrams became concerned when she noticed that three of her new clients within the past month had switched to her from Counsellor Owen. According to Abrams, it’s unusual to receive that many new clients from the same counsellor within that period of time. When Abrams asked the clients why they’d switched, she received typical responses (counsellor wasn’t helping, didn’t feel comfortable with the counsellor), but decided to report the anomaly regardless. Owen is Joined and all the new clients are female (I checked his file and he’s diff-oriented). Abrams doesn’t know Owen personally and hasn’t heard anything bad about him professionally. She also pointed out that some clients go from counsellor to counsellor until they find one that tells them what they want to hear.

  After interviewing Abrams, I decided that the case warranted further investigation. I interviewed Cynthia Hubert, one of the three clients who switched from Owen to Abrams. Hubert said she transferred because she didn’t feel comfortable with Owen. When I pressed her further, she told me that her first few sessions with Owen were fine, but then he started to ask her about her sexual experiences, even though the matter for which she was seeing him (anxiety regarding public speaking) had nothing to do with her sex life. Since Owen quickly backed down on both occasions when Hubert told him she didn’t want to answer the questions, and the context was a counselling session, he didn’t violate Article CT84. However, since the questions were unrelated to Hubert’s problem, I decided to pursue the case further and interview the other two clients.