Violence warning. This part contains an accidental but somewhat violent death.
Vector: 6/?
By Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
The Powell household appeared deserted when Mombasa cut quietly across the wide lawn toward the back door. He skirted the lighted area and stealthily approached the rear entrance. There was a sliding glass door but it wasn't locked and he eased it open with hardly a scrape. All was still.
He entered on cat feet, gripping his blaster, and stepped sideways, keeping close to the wall. "Dagmar?" he whispered.
"Busaidi?" Her return whisper came immediately. "Over here!"
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he saw her silhouette, a slender, darker shape against the wall. She had been seated on the floor but as he whispered her name, she got to her feet.
"Are you okay?" His voice wasn't quite as steady as he would have liked.
"Yes." She came quickly across the living room and he wrapped his arms around her. "But Selena ran out of here a while ago with Harold after her. You need to go look for her. I was afraid to leave in case she came back. Busaidi, he was crazy! He --"
"Did you call the sheriff?"
"Yes. He told me to calm down and that he'd tell his men to watch for her. I'm sure he thought I was hysterical. Can you look for her?"
"She's at my parents' place," Mombasa said.
"She is? She went to you? Is she all right?"
"Yes."
A pause. Then: "I guess you must have talked to her."
"Yeah. Right after that thing with Mr. Peabody, yesterday."
"I heard about it. I didn't realize Selena was there."
"She didn't do anything," he assured her. "After the others ran off, she and I had a talk."
"You told her ... the truth?"
"She deserved to know -- in more ways than one."
Another pause. Then: "She smart-mouthed you, huh?"
"In spades. How did you know?"
"It's a foolish mother who doesn't know her own child. What did she say?"
"We don't have time to go into it now. Afterwards, she went on to school. Look, she said Harold hit you. How bad is it?"
She turned a light on low, revealing a cut lip and a swollen bruise on the other cheek to match the one he had noticed the day before. "I don't know. I haven't looked."
He examined the marks and swore under his breath.
"You're sure Selena's all right?"
"She's all right - no thanks to Powell. He tried to rape her in the park. She hit him with a rock and got away."
Dagmar turned away, one hand clutching the back of a chair. "Are you certain?"
"She told me herself, and her blouse was half off. Yeah, I'm certain."
"That does it!" Dagmar spun about and headed down the hallway. "I don't care, anymore! I don't care what Papa Powell does and I don't care if I lose everything! I'm leaving him, now! Tonight!"
He followed her. "Where are you going?"
"To pack! And to break all of Harold's toys before I go!"
He smothered a grin. "Honey, it's not worth it. Besides, it'll just make him madder."
"*Good*!" She entered the bedroom and there was the sound of some small object shattering against the wall. The odor of expensive cologne filled the air.
He followed her into the bedroom. Dagmar was yanking expensive suits from the closet and throwing them on the floor.
"Dagmar, we don't have time for this ...."
"Two minutes is all I'll need." She left the room at a run, to return less than ten seconds later, a bottle of spaghetti sauce in one hand. She snapped the lid off and emptied the entire contents into the pile of suits and threw the jar on top. "Okay, you're right." She yanked a few articles of clothing from the closet and a suitcase from beneath the bed. "Selena's room is next door. Run get her some clothes. It doesn't matter what. I'll be done here in a minute."
"Just bring your personal items. I'll buy you both all the clothes you want. I don't want you to have to wear anything Harold provided, anyway."
She stopped. "You're right. Of course you're right!" She tossed the clothing on the floor and turned to snatch three holographs and a jewelry box from the dresser. She emptied the box on the bed and fished among the contents to remove two rings and a bracelet. "My mother's," she explained briefly. She had removed her wedding ring, he saw. It lay half-submerged in the spaghetti sauce on top of the clothing.
"I guess Harold will get the idea," he remarked. "How about Selena?"
"Uh -- her diary, I guess. And the turquoise ring my mother willed to her. That's probably all that's irreplaceable."
They went into Selena's room and Dagmar turned on the light, glancing quickly around. "There's the diary but I don't see the ring. She may be wearing it. Oh; get that poster of Lester Waring off the wall. She loves that."
Mombasa carefully detached the poster of a muscular, young man wearing abbreviated swim trunks from the wall. He turned to see Dagmar removing a poster of Mark Linley from the opposite wall. He grinned. "Where's the one of Alan Westover?"
"Inside the closet. She had to hide it or Harold would have destroyed it. Get it, will you?"
Mombasa did so. "Why would he destroy it?"
"I think because he knew I had a crush on Alan. I always have -- ever since he shot Salthvor."
Mombasa rolled the poster into a tidy cylinder. "But not on Linley, huh? Why not?"
"I don't know. Maybe because Alan was like you -- the small town boy who always did what was right and triumphed because of it." She smiled a little bashfully, dabbing at the blood on her cheek. "Kind of corny, I guess."
"Kind of," he said with a smile. "I haven't always done what was right. Far from it."
"You did while you were living here," she said softly. "Except for the night when Selena was conceived." She met his eyes and for an instant they smiled at each other. Mombasa swallowed. How young they had both been, then, and how full of dreams!
"I think we have everything." Dagmar turned, holding the poster and diary under one arm, the holos under the other. She had put on the bracelet and rings, he saw.
"Let's get out of here," he said, and ushered Dagmar before him out of the room.
As they reached the hall, the front door opened and Harold Powell stepped through.
He was carrying a laser pistol and appeared less drunk than Mombasa would have expected, given Selena's description. The pistol swung instantly to point directly at Mombasa's middle. "Freeze, 'trol!" His words were slurred but perfectly understandable. "One more step and I shoot you."
Dagmar spoke. "Harold! Put that thing down! It's over!"
He laughed nastily. "No it isn't, slut." His finger tightened on the trigger.
Selena stepped through the open door behind her stepfather and Powell abruptly staggered forward as the girl pushed him from behind. The laser pistol spat once, leaving a charred spot in the ceiling, and then Mombasa was on him.
The two men lurched sideways together. For all his extra padding, Harold was still respectably strong, but he lacked Mombasa's training. He was trying to bring the laser pistol to bear on his opponent and Mombasa was striving to prevent him from doing so. They rolled across the floor, grunting and cursing, each trying to gain control of the weapon. A table crashed to the floor beside them and a lamp shattered.
Powell twisted hard and suddenly was straddling Mombasa, both hands on the pistol. It started to inch toward Mombasa's face.
Dagmar appeared above him. She was holding something and he saw her swing it hard. It connected with Powell's skull with an audible smacking sound and Powell fell sideways. The pistol dropped to the carpet. Selena kicked it away.
Powell was made of resilient stuff. He rolled to his feet, shaking his head, and turned to glare at Dagmar with bloodshot eyes. "You little slut! You're gonna pay for that!"
"It's over, Powell!" Mombasa spoke forcefully, hoping to pierce his opponent's rage. "Give it up!"
"Yeah! It's over for *you*!" Powell pulled a knife from his belt and charged.
Selena thrust out a foot. Harold tripped and crashed forward to the floor. He lay motionless. Blood oozed out from beneath him.
Mombasa knelt beside him and managed to turn him over. The knife was buried to the hilt in Powell's chest and blood was everywhere.
"Call an ambulance, Dagmar!" Mombasa commanded. He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and tried to pack the area around the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Dagmar ran for the videophone.
Selena stood beside Mombasa, watching the proceedings, apparently unmoved.
"Shouldn't we pull it out?" she asked.
"He might bleed more if we do," Mombasa said.
Powell's eyes opened, staring vacantly upward. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Don't move," Mombasa told him. "An ambulance is on the way."
A slurred obscenity was all the response he got. Powell's eyes closed again and with a faint gurgle, his breathing ceased.
Dagmar was back. She covered her mouth with both hands, staring down at her husband. "Oh my god! Oh my god --"
Selena put her arms around her mother, holding tightly. Mombasa stood up and put his arms around both of them. In the distance came the wail of an approaching siren.
**********
6
When Busaidi Mombasa opened his eyes the following morning, the night's events seemed like a dream -- a very unpleasant one. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stared at the small figure of his brother still snuggled, snoring faintly, beneath the covers of his bed. Zephan knew nothing of what had happened. He had been long since asleep by the time Mombasa had returned with Dagmar and Selena.
The police report had taken several hours and Powell's father had been called regarding his son's untimely demise. He had shown up half-drunk, demanding Mombasa's arrest and had tried to bully Dagmar and Selena into going home with him for comfort and support.
The sheriff, naturally, had denied the elder Powell's demand. Terran police did not arrest high-ranking members of the Viceregal Patrol and privately the sheriff told Mombasa that, in his opinion, the finding would be accidental death.
On Mombasa's advice, Dagmar and Selena had told the entire story, concealing nothing. There was no use in trying to hide anything. *They* were blameless and to attempt to hide anything might be far more damaging than to simply tell the truth. He knew it had been painful for Selena, but she hadn't shown it. She maintained her cocky façade until they had reached Mombasa's home. Then it disintegrated and she wept for half an hour. He was proud of her -- in fact, he was proud of both of them. Mother and daughter were made of unbreakable stuff.
Mombasa shifted in bed, debating whether to get up. He had several sore places from the fight with Harold and when he moved his left shoulder twinged painfully.
Someone pounded on the front door and instantly he was on his feet, grabbing for his blaster with one hand and his robe with the other. Winston Powell was back, possibly with some reinforcements, to cause more trouble.
He reached the door at the same moment as his father, just as the pounding sounded again. Kent glanced at him. "You got your blaster?"
Mombasa patted the blaster in its shoulder holster beneath the robe. Kent nodded and opened the door.
It was, as expected, the elder Powell, with two other men behind him, both trying to look threatening. Mombasa faced the three men squarely. "Yes?"
Winston Powell stepped forward, his fists clenched. "You're in for it, 'trol; you hear me? You may be a lapdog for the Jils but this is Terran soil. You don't just walk in, kill a man and take his women for yourself -- not without his family to deal with."
"Harold had mistreated both his wife and daughter," Mombasa said. "I'm sorry, but your son made his own bed this time."
"It's easy to accuse a man once he's dead," Powell said. "But there ain't no witnesses but you."
Selena appeared from nowhere, glaring at the trio of intruders. "Get the hell out of here!" she shrilled. "Mr. Mombasa's telling the truth! Harold tried to rape me and he punched my mom when she tried to stop him! And in the end, he killed himself! He fell on his own knife, and it served him right!"
Powell's fists came up and he started toward the girl. Mombasa stepped in his way. "Get out of here. Now."
One of the other men spoke. "Come on, Winston. Let's go."
Powell took a swing at Mombasa. Busaidi blocked it and sent the other man staggering back into the arms of his friends. He spoke sideways to Selena. "Go call the sheriff."
"You better watch your back, bootlicker -- and your family's," Powell said. "One way or another, you're gonna pay."
Mombasa took another step forward, hot rage boiling up. "You'd better listen to me, mister. As you pointed out, I'm a bootlicker -- a very expensive bootlicker where the Jils are concerned. They've invested a lot of money in me and I doubt they'll take it kindly if I'm killed by a drunken Terran. And if my work is affected due to worry about what that same Terran might to do my family, they'll be quite irritated. They could be annoyed enough to remove the irritant. Do you want to take the chance of annoying the Jils?"
Powell opened his mouth and closed it again. One of the other men caught his arm. "Come *on*, Winston! This is stupid!"
He shook off the other man's hand and puffed out his chest. "You can't scare me, you crawling bootlicker!"
"And after I leave," Mombasa said, "if Selena or Dagmar, or any of my family is hurt, whether you're responsible or not, I'll see to it that you pay. Believe me, I can arrange it without any inconvenience at all. Remember that."
The other two men glanced at each other, turned as one and departed. Deserted by his companions, Powell hesitated. In the distance the wail of an approaching siren became audible.
"I'm gonna get you, bootlicker," he blustered at last, and followed his companions down the walk.
**********
However, they had no further trouble from Winston Powell. Mr. and Mrs. Peabody showed up later that day, having heard about the trouble, offering their help in any way that they could. The report of Harold's demise appeared in the evening newsstrip, along with a short and somewhat inaccurate description of the incident. Apparently the reporter writing the story had either got his information wrong or had thought that a fight to the death would be more entertaining to his readers than the story of a drunk falling on his own knife.
Unknown to Mombasa, Selena called the newsstrip and spoke to the same reporter, giving him in detail the true story, for the next day another, far more accurate account appeared, that included the attempted rape and beating, Mombasa's rescue of mother and daughter and Harold's ignominious death. The reporter made the most of it and did an excellent job. And Mombasa had to endure the phone calls and visits of neighbors again. It was tough, being the town hero, his father pointed out. He should try being a little less heroic. Busaidi merely grunted something unintelligible into his coffee.
Dagmar and Selena went home two days later, somewhat to Mombasa's trepidation, but they weren't bothered. Evidently, Winston Powell had taken his warning to heart -- which was a wise move on his part, for the warning Mombasa had given him was not an empty threat, as most Terrans knew through experience. The actual power of a high-ranking officer in the Viceregal Patrol extended a long way if he chose to exercise it, and Mombasa meant every word.
Dagmar and he took long walks together along country roads, as they didn't wish to be seen together in public just yet. It didn't matter. They delighted in each other's company. Dagmar didn't speak of the past unless he asked about it. She spoke only of the future. It had been her dream, she said, to become a journalist and now she might give it a try. She was still young and there was time yet for her to go back to school and get her degree. Maybe she could even get a job at the local newsstrip.
Sometimes Selena accompanied them on their walks. She was always good company -- cheerful, lively and young. She reminded him of his sister Mattie.
The cool, autumn days grew cooler as the month wore on and the time for his departure drew near. A week before he was due to leave, he and Dagmar took the aircar to the beach and walked hand in hand along the surf line. They ate sandwiches that his mother had prepared for them and watched the waves breaking on the shore. It was chilly, so after eating, they got up and moved on. After a while, they found a sheltered cove and stopped, huddled together, and watched the huge red disk of Aldebaran dip toward the horizon. Storm clouds were beginning to gather, blotting out the setting sun.
"We should head back," Dagmar said. "We have at least three kilometers to go and these storms come in fast -- but, of course, you know that."
He stood up. "You're right."
She smiled up at him, her black, shining hair blowing in the wind. The remainders of the bruises were invisible against her ebony skin, and her lovely face was beautiful in its new happiness.
"Busaidi, I want to say thank you."
"Dagmar, please --"
"No, let me say it. You brought hope with you. Hope, and a new life for Selena and me. I blamed you all those years for what happened --"
"It was my fault."
"It was mine, too. I see that now. I should have trusted you more. I should have just told you I was pregnant. It was stupid not to."
"You tried."
"I didn't try hard enough. I was young and silly, but so were you. If I had trusted you, you wouldn't have let me down. I know that now."
The wind was beginning to blow harder, but neither of them noticed. He took her shoulders and drew her against him. "No," he said. "I'm not sure what I'd have said. I was pretty stupid in some ways -- but I wouldn't have left you. I loved you, and I always have."
She was silent, her head against his chest. The first raindrops pattered around them, bringing them sharply back to reality. "Yikes! Let's go!"
They ran together down the beach. The rain slackened slightly and then began to come down harder, accompanied by violent gusts of wind that lifted the sand in clouds. They stumbled, gasping and laughing, their voices drowned in the roar of the surf.
Twenty minutes later, soaked and covered with sand, they reached the aircar and piled inside. Laughing breathlessly, they closed the doors and leaned back against the seats, listening to the raging storm without. Then Mombasa sat up and turned to the woman beside him.
"Dagmar, will you marry me?"
She turned toward him, rubbing sand from her eyes. Her hair was full of sand, wet and wildly curling all around her face. She was laughing.
"Did I hear you right?"
"I hope so. Will you marry me?"
Her laughter increased. He watched her with a sinking heart, waiting for her to say no.
But she reached out, caught him by the ears and kissed him hard on the mouth. "You are the most unconventional man I've ever known, Squadron Commander Mombasa. No moonlit gardens and white roses for you, huh? You prefer a storm on the beach for your proposal setting."
"I ..."
"With your woman soaking wet and covered with sand."
"But --"
"Yes, I'll marry you."
She took his breath away with that, even more than the storm outside had. He grinned, pulling her against him, and kissed her.
Later, dry but still more than a little sandy, they sat in Dagmar's living room and drank hot chocolate before a crackling fire. Selena was in her room, doing homework, and listening to music. The pounding beat of the latest rock hit made the house quiver slightly.
Mombasa took a box from his pocket and gave it to her. "This is yours. I bought it at Larissa's Jeweler's seventeen years ago."
Dagmar took it and opened it. The little diamond winked in the firelight. She took the ring out, holding it between thumb and forefinger and examined it closely. "I remember this. We were looking in the store window and I picked it out. I didn't really think you'd buy it for me. It cost too much."
"It doesn't cost too much now. I could afford a much bigger diamond -- or even a tani if you want."
"Shut up. I want this one."
He grinned. "That's what I thought."
She slipped it on her finger. Her hands weren't quite as slender and smooth as they had been when she was seventeen, but they were still beautiful. Mombasa took her hand and kissed the back of it. "I leave day after tomorrow but I'll be back at Christmas. We could be married then, or next year in April. Which do you prefer?"
She thought about it. "I might have a few eyebrows raised at me, marrying again only three months after Harold's death."
"April is fine, then."
"Oh, to heck with convention! My friends will understand that I'm hardly the traditional grieving widow, and those who aren't my friends don't matter anyway. When at Christmas will you be here?"
"I'll have to let you know on that. Probably a week before and a week after."
"Then I'll try to arrange it for the week before." Her lower lip quivered. "I'm going to miss you."
"Not as much as I'll miss you." He took her in his arms, kissing her. The kiss became passionate after a moment and they started to sink to the rug together.
"Mom?"
Instantly they were upright again and a meter apart. Selena appeared in the entrance from the hallway. "I'm having trouble with this algebra problem --" Her voice trailed off as she glanced from her mother to Mombasa, and back to Dagmar. She grinned. "Uh oh. I interrupted something, didn't I? Sorry." She started to turn away.
"Selena!" Mombasa got to his feet, feeling the warmth spread up his neck. "Come here. I'm good at algebra. I'll help you."
Her grin widened as she approached and set her book down on the rug. Her gaze lit on her mother's hand with its sparkling ring and she gave a little whoop. "When?"
Dagmar smiled. "Christmas."
Selena hugged her mother and then, to Mombasa's surprise, she turned and hugged him as well. "I'm so glad!" She threw back her head and laughed. "Old Winston's gonna birth a trenchcrawler!"
"Selena!" her mother gasped.
Mombasa grinned and then sobered. "Kind of keep it quiet until I'm back, okay? I don't want that guy to make any trouble."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of *him*! He's a big --"
"Nevertheless, I'll feel better. We can take the town by surprise in December, and once Dagmar and I are married, I don't think he'll dare try anything."
She shrugged. "Oh, all right." Her grin reappeared almost at once and she ran to the kitchen, reappearing almost instantly with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. Dagmar's mouth opened in shock.
"Where did *that* come from?"
Selena grinned more widely. "I figured he'd pop the question soon. I had it ready."
"But how did *you* get it, young lady?"
She looked mysterious. "I have my sources." She set the bottle and three glasses on the rug. "Let's have a toast!"
Mombasa grinned. "Sparkling teeva juice for you, darlin'."
"Aww, Mr. Mombasa --"
"Sorry."
"Hell! I mean, heck! Mom --"
"Your father's right, Selena."
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Without another word, she went back into the kitchen and returned a few seconds later with the teeva juice.
They poured three glasses. Then Mombasa relented and added a small blurp of champagne to Selena's juice. She grinned at him, lifting her glass.
"To my mom and dad," she said.
"To our family," Mombasa said.
She giggled and took a big swallow of the drink. "Corny," she remarked.
"Get used to it," Busaidi advised.
**********
He departed two days later. Saying goodbye was worse than he'd thought it would be. Jamie had sobbed openly, clinging to his neck, and Zephan had bounced up and down, chanting "Don't go, Busi! Please don't go!"
He departed for the spaceport in his rental car, the memory of Dagmar's kisses still tingling pleasantly on his lips. It had been a wonderful vacation. Life would be perfect if only he didn't have to go back.
The spaceport was crowded. Carrying his bag, Mombasa headed for the ticket window. He was wishing that he hadn't rushed his departure. Officially, he still had a week of leave remaining, and the trip back wasn't even sixty hours. Hell! He could have stayed an extra two days and still maintained a decent margin of time for his return. There was no need to always be so early. Why he could go back now and surprise them all with two more days.
Of course, he would have to go through all those painful good-byes again, but it just might be worth it.
He realized abruptly that he was looking at someone in the crowd -- a man whose face had caught his attention. For a moment he failed to place the guy, and then memory leaped out at him.
It was the man who had come aboard his ship just prior to his leave -- the tall, muscular fellow who had carried the cage full of Lord Frexvor's "pets". What the hell was *he* doing here?
**********
tbc
