Homecoming - Christie Golden [22]
[62] Libby relaxed slightly. “Thank you, Director. That’s good to know.”
“Despite what you may hear,” said Covington, smiling mischievously, “I’m not an ice queen.” She winked. “I do hope all goes well. Good night, Agent Webber.”
“Good night, ma’am.”
The screen went dark. Libby pressed the proper buttons and the holographic concealing panel rematerialized. She leaned back on the bed, her thoughts racing.
Oh, Harry. What are we going to do? What if it doesn’t work? I’ll hate my self for playing on your emotions.
She rose, performed her nightly ablutions, slipped into a pair of oversized, comfortable pajamas, and got into bed. One thing she knew for sure: If it didn’t work out, she’d break things off the minute the assignment was done and the mole captured. Harry deserved better than to just be used, even for a good cause.
She drifted into sleep,” and was haunted by dreams.
B’Elanna swallowed hard. Standing silently behind her, her husband, who knew every one of her volatile, complex moods, touched her shoulder gently with one hand. In the other arm he cradled a sleeping Miral.
The banquet was over, and B’Elanna was glad. It had been a strained, tense affair. First the uncomfortable reunion with her father, then the perfunctory awards ceremony. She didn’t give a damn about her own promotion, but she was smarting on behalf of Tom, Harry, Vorik, Campbell, and especially Captain Janeway. They all deserved much more than being an add-on to a lousy banquet. Just handing out those pips as if they were party [63] favors belittled the achievements of her hardworking fellow crewmen. It rankled and she was hardly able to eat a bite. Now they were alone in their room in the Parises’ household, and she had one more task to complete before turning in and putting an end to this stressful day.
Torres took a deep breath. “Computer,” she said, “put me through to Commander Logt.”
In a heartbeat, Logt’s strong, attractive visage appeared. “B’Elanna Torres,” she said. “You received my message, then.”
“I did,” Torres replied, “but I’m still confused. You said that we needed to talk about my mother, and that it is a matter of some urgency. What happened to her?”
“First,” Logt said, “how much do you know about your mother’s recent activities?”
Tired, nerves strained to the breaking point, B’Elanna snapped, “How the hell should I know anything? I’ve been lost in the Delta Quadrant for seven years!”
Logt’s eyes flashed; then she opened a mouth full of sharp, jagged teeth and laughed. “So you are a Klingon after all! I was beginning to have my doubts. And you are right. I should have realized you would know nothing.”
Although the commander had conceded that Torres’s point was valid, somehow B’Elanna felt as though she’d just been insulted. Tom’s hand gently squeezed her shoulder and she bit back the angry retort. She took a deep breath and said, “I have only just returned. Please. Tell me about my mother.”
“She came here to Boreth about a year after your ship had been deemed lost,” said Logt.
[64] “Boreth?” Torres was confused. “It’s a spiritual community, not a military outpost. What is a commander doing there?”
Logt sat up straighter, and for the first time Torres noticed the baldric that draped from her right shoulder to the left side of the waist. It was red and gold. This was one of the emperor’s personal guards.
“His Excellency Kahless wished a small military presence here,” Logt said. “It is a high honor indeed.”
Torres was certain it was, but she was also equally certain that it annoyed a military officer no end to be stationed in such a peaceful place. She hoped Logt wasn’t chafing under the “honor.” Even though she had distanced herself from all things Klingon, B’Elanna remembered well the commotion that Kahless’s return had caused. The