Those Ills We Have

The sun’s rays came slanting through the windows at the back of the classroom, telling of the fading of afternoon.  A woman sat behind the desk at the front of the room, her attention divided between the pile of papers she was grading and the infant in the stroller beside her.  From time to time she would turn to the baby, to retrieve a dropped toy or just to touch her and make a reassuring remark.  Occasionally she would caress the soft cap of fine red curls, the exact same color as her own.

The last paper was graded.  She put it on top of the stack with a look of triumph.  She smiled down at the infant in her baby stroller.

“Now Mommy’s done, Miranda.  I’ll just get everything put away, and then we’ll go home and fix supper.  Would you like that, honey?” 

The baby grinned at her. 

“All right.  Let me lock up.”  She closed the desk drawer and stood up to lock the file cabinet.  Leaning against its cool metallic bulk, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly.

“Oh, Myrrielle!  I miss you so much.  I thought Miranda would be enough.  But I miss you.”  In the two months since she’d left Raznack, she’d come to bitterly regret leaving.  Miranda was a wonderful baby, and Debbie showered her with love. But the great gaping hole in her life that had once been occupied by Myrrielle, Lord Griffendahl, of Raznack, could not be filled by anything or anyone else.  The eccentric Royal Lord Inquisitor had stolen her heart irretrievably.  She longed for him with every waking hour, and she dreamed of him every night.  Sometimes she woke from a dream of him, feeling his kisses on her lips, his arms around her tenderly, and wept into her pillow.

Returning to her teaching position at the University on Karthos had helped to fill her time.  At the moment she had no research projects going, although several promising graduate students had sent out feelers in her direction.  After the accelerated pace she’d had to work at on Raznack, and the intensity of her personal feelings about the wyvern Vyrrim’s enforced confinement, more mundane research did not hold much interest for her.  The fully equipped, state-of-the-art lab she’d gotten so used to on Raznack made the antiquated, scrounged, begged, borrowed and stolen equipment here seem like so much junk.  And some of it was.  She lived in fear of the ultra-centrifuge, for example.  If she had her way it would have been secured behind a blast wall.  The heads they had for it were old, and if they were to disintegrate at anything approaching their upper rotation limits, they could embed sizeable metal pieces in concrete walls forty feet away.

She sighed.  She’d gotten back from Raznack after a two week trip that left her tired and achy.  After that she’d had two weeks to get her apartment out of mothballs and get Miranda and herself settled in before classes started.  Usually she felt excited and energized at the start of a new semester; now she just felt tired. 

“Maybe it’s just adjusting to a different planet again, Miranda, what do you think?” 

The baby smiled.  Just then she heard someone rattle the doorknob.  In an instant a wave of icy fear washed over her.  She knew the door was locked, but that didn’t stop her heart from beating like a jackhammer.  Her trembling hand automatically dove into her purse for her cell phone, feeling the reassuring cold steel of her loaded revolver beneath it.

“Doctor Duvarnos?” 

She relaxed substantially.  It was the Department Chairman, Theodore Burgess.  He occasionally came along to chat and to chivvy her out of the building when he judged she’d stayed too late.  He was a nice man, several years her senior, quite good looking, and he seemed to genuinely like Miranda.  He’d dropped several broad hints that he was more than slightly interested in Debbie, but she always found herself comparing him with Myrrielle, and it made her even more lonely and heartsick.

“Yes, Ted.  I know it’s late.  I was just going.”  She unlocked the door to find him standing there with two men in immaculate suits. 

“Hi, Debbie.  Is everything all right?” 

The fact that her finger was on the police emergency quick-dial button did not go unnoticed by the three men.  Ted gestured to the two men with him. 

“These two gentlemen would like to talk to you.  Would you mind if we came in?”

“Oh, of course not.”  She peered at their bland, inscrutable countenances and couldn’t find a clue as to who they were or what they wanted.  She took her finger off the emergency dialer.  “Come in, please.  I was just leaving.  What can I do for you?”  She laid the phone down on the desk.

They stepped into the small room.  They seemed to loom over her.   Ted bent over and smiled at Miranda.  He tickled her chin gently, and she giggled slightly.

“Hello, gorgeous.  You look more like your mother every day.” 

For a very good reason, Debbie thought to herself. 

He straightened after a moment and introduced his two companions.

“Debbie, allow me to introduce James Cordera and Michael Johnson.  They’re Field Agents with the Criminal Investigation Bureau.  They’d like to ask you some questions.” 

She nodded slowly.

“Are you Doctor Deborah Duvarnos?” Agent Johnson asked.  She nodded.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Were you recently on the planet Raznack as a consultant?”  Agent Johnson continued to question her.

“Yes.”

“Did you bring anything back with you that you did not take to Raznack?” 

She steeled herself.  This was the interview she’d been expecting.

“Yes,” she said, as calmly as possible.

“Would you mind telling us what that was?” 

She smiled brightly.

“My daughter, Miranda Eileen.”  She gestured to the baby.

“Your daughter.  I see.  How old is she, Ma’am?”

“She’ll be three-and-a-half months old next week.”

“Can you prove that, Ma’am.”

“I have her birth certificate in that file cabinet.”

“We’d like to look at it if we may?” 

She nodded calmly.  When she presented it to them, they examined it carefully.

“This says she was born on Raznack.  Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Are you aware that there is no information listed for the father of this child?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why is that, Ma’am?”

“Raznack does not allow immigration.  They do not allow intermarriage between Raznackai and visiting foreigners.  Children born to visiting foreigners are considered illegal aliens. Listing their Raznackai parent’s name is not allowed.  It is prohibited by their laws.” 

They digested this.

“Were you aware of this policy when you undertook to, er, have this child?”

“If you mean, did I go into this blind, no.  I knew about the policy beforehand.”

“Yet you undertook to, ah, have this child a few months after you arrived there?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that rather sudden?” Johnson smirked.  She noticed his sarcastic tone.

“Miranda’s father was a very persuasive man.  And very affectionate.  But the baby was actually my idea.”  She smiled at the memory.

“Are you aware that Raznack’s laws forbid the exportation of experimental genetic material for any reason?” 

She shook her head.

“No.  But I fail to see what this has to do with me.  Miranda is my baby.  I don’t think you can prove otherwise.”

“Are you familiar with an experiment designated WYV-1539 on Raznack?” 

She hesitated momentarily.  That was what Griffendahl had said was on his birth certificate.

“No.” 

They looked at each other for a moment.  They’d seen her hesitation.

“Well, Ma’am, the Raznackai government claims differently.” 

She looked at him silently. 

“They claim you are in possession of genetic material from that experiment.”

“That’s impossible!” she snapped.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” 

The two men looked at each other knowingly.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we’ll have to ask you to come with us to headquarters,” Agent Cordera said.

“What?  Why?  What’s this all about?” she said.  Panic was setting in fast. “What are you talking about?”

“Dr. Deborah Duvarnos, you’re under arrest for theft of experimental genetic material, suspicion of exporting a cloned individual, and falsification of public records with the intent to smuggle experimental genetic material and/or cloned individuals from Raznack.   You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right to have an attorney present now and during any future questioning.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you free of charge if you wish.”

Debbie stared at him, open-mouthed.  She closed her mouth slowly.  For a moment she felt light headed, as if she were going to faint. One hand reached slowly for Miranda’s stroller.  She gripped the handle tightly.

“You’ll forgive me if I bring my baby with me?” she said in a small, hollow voice.”

“We’ll have to bring her along for material evidence, Ma’am,” Cordera said.

“You’ve got to be kidding!  You can’t arrest a baby!” Ted exclaimed. 

The two men looked at him coolly.

“We’re not going to arrest the baby, Dr. Burgess.  We’re impounding it as material evidence.” 

“Impounding?”  The look on Dr. Burgess’ face made it clear he was totally flummoxed.

“Ted?”  He looked at her in confusion.  “Do me a favor?  Get hold of my father for me and tell him what’s happened?” 

He nodded slowly.

“Will do, Deborah.  I’ll take care of it.”  Quite unexpectedly, he stepped over to her and kissed her on the cheek.  “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right,” he whispered in her ear.

“You take very good care of our Dr. Duvarnos,” he said firmly.  “We think very highly of her here at the University.”

“We’ll take good care of them both, Dr. Burgess,” Agent Cordera assured him soberly.  He turned to her.  “Is there anything else you’ll need to bring along?”

“Just the baby’s diaper bag and my purse.  But one of you had better bring that.”

“Why is that?”

“Because there’s a fully loaded service revolver and fifteen spare rounds of ammunition for it in the bottom, Sir,” she answered serenely.  All three men looked at her in shock.  Her interrogator recovered himself first.

“Is there some reason for that, Dr. Duvarnos?” he queried.

“Yes.  A couple of years ago I was attacked and abducted from this campus by a man who was mentally unhinged.  He raped and tortured me and would have killed me if I hadn’t managed to escape.  I don’t plan to allow it to happen again.”

“I see.  Fifteen rounds is certainly an odd number, Dr. Duvarnos.”

“I meant to make sure I always had a round to use on myself if need be.” 

All three men looked at her sharply.  Nothing more was said.

Johnson reached into her purse and gingerly lifted the gun out.  He gave a low whistle of appreciation.

“Nice!” he remarked admiringly.   He unloaded it carefully.

“Thank you,” she said calmly.

“Er, do you happen to have a permit for this?”

“Yes I do.  It’s in the side zipper pocket.  There are four more copies in that file cabinet.” 

He looked where she indicated, fishing out a folded paper.  He unfolded it and studied it carefully.  He handed it to the other man.  He pointed a finger at one place. 

“Qualified as Expert Marksman,” he noted.

“Hmm.  I see.  You qualified for Expert in just six days?” Cordera asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you have any previous weapons training, Dr. Duvarnos?”  Agent Cordera sounded impressed.

“No.”

“You have quite a talent, then.  It’s too bad you won’t be able to use it where you’re going.” 

She stared at him silently. 

“The Raznackai government has demanded immediate extradition to stand trial on Raznack for these charges, pending the outcome of certain tests we have been requested to carry out on you and the babies here.”

“What sort of tests?” she asked.

“DNA tests, Dr. Duvarnos.  I do hope you will see fit to cooperate with us.  I would hate to have to get a court order and permission to take samples by force.  We don’t like to damage any of our guests.”

“Oh.  I see,” she said, rather sarcastically.  The annals of the planet were replete with accounts of the CIB’s less than tender handling of some of its “guests”.

“I’ll bet you do, Dr. Duvarnos,” he said quietly.  “May I have your arms, please?” 

“What for?” she asked, suddenly frightened.  He produced a pair of gleaming metal handcuffs.  Her eyes widened, and she shrank from him.

“The law requires that I handcuff you, Ma’am, due to the serious nature of the charges.  We’d prefer not to have to hurt a woman in your condition.  We’d appreciate it if you’d cooperate with us.”

“My condition?  And just what condition might that be?” 

He looked at her indulgently.

“There’s no need for the act.  We know you’re pregnant, ma’am.” 

She looked at him in shock.

“That’s funny,” she said caustically.  “This is the first I’ve heard about it.  And just when and where is this miraculously unmemorable event supposed to have taken place?”

“On Raznack, Ma’am.”  He told her a specific date according to the Raznack calendar.

She frowned, thinking quickly.  That was about a week after Miranda had been born.  The date of the power outages.  She shuddered slightly, remembering the slobbering, slavering noise of the wyvern as it ate her attackers, gulping down their flesh voraciously and crushing their bones into powder as she lay in its warm stone bed trying to shut out the sounds. 

“That would mean that you got pregnant within a week of delivering your first child.”

“That’s physically impossible!” she said sharply.

“That’s right, Dr. Duvarnos.  That means either your daughter is not your child, or she is a product of cloning technology and has been illegally exported.”

“That just isn’t possible!” she exclaimed.

“Why is that, Dr. Duvarnos?”

“I’m not pregnant!” she ground out between clenched teeth. 

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Their experts say otherwise.  It’s not for me to say.  A simple blood test can answer the question.  I suggest you cooperate with us, Dr. Duvarnos.  The sooner we get going the sooner we can get this over with.  Please give me your wrists.”

She held out her arms to him at last.  He looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ll have to ask you to turn around.” 

The ultimate humiliation, she thought as she slowly complied with his request.  She felt the cool metal encircle her wrists, heard them rasp as he latched them securely but not too tightly around her wrists. 

“Let’s go, Ma’am,” he said politely, taking her gently but firmly by the elbow.  His partner shouldered the diaper bag and her purse and took hold of Miranda’s stroller.  He nodded, and they escorted her from the building to a plain looking car at the curb.  They put her and Miranda in the back seat and slowly drove away.  The car hit a pothole, jerking hard, and the baby began to fuss.  Soon she was squalling angrily.  Debbie tried to soothe her but she could not reach her.  It was perhaps a fifteen-minute ride to their destination, and Miranda protested at the top of her lungs all the way. 

Both men seemed oblivious to the baby’s cries.  It was perhaps the longest fifteen minutes of Debbie’s life.  Agent Cordera helped her out of the car while his partner retrieved Miranda and her paraphernalia. 

“This way, please.” He directed her through a door.  Miranda was still squalling.  Once inside the doorway she stopped.

“Please let her take care of her,” she implored.  Agent Cordera shook his head.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.  I can’t do that until we’ve finished processing both of you.” He propelled her gently along the corridor, pushing her at last into a small room with a table and two chairs.  She could hear Miranda’s screams as they walked away with her.  Ironically, posted beside the door on a small placard was the text of the Miranda rights, a holdover in jurisprudence from a time almost forgotten when her people had dwelled under a very different star long since gone nova.  She sat down in a chair and began to weep miserably.  After a while she rested her head carefully on the table and closed her eyes. 

“Oh, Myrrielle, please, come and save us,” she whispered fervently.  She fell asleep at last.

“Miss Duvarnos?”  A firm hand shook her awake gently. 

She awoke, startled. She felt stiff and achy all over as she sat up and looked around.  A man’s pleasant voice spoke gently. 

“You are Deborah Duvarnos, are you not?” 

She nodded stiffly, moving her shoulders slowly to work some circulation into them as she sought the source of the voice. 

“I’m Detective Bill Matthews.  I’m sorry to disturb your little nap, but I need some information from you.” 

The voice belonged to a man of average height and trim, athletic build, with wavy brown hair that tended to disarray.  He was wearing a light blue polo shirt and navy blue slacks.  At the moment he was squatting beside her, his eyes on a level with hers.  He placed a manila file folder and a yellow pad of paper on the table.  A pitcher and disposable glass sat on the far side of the table.  His mild blue eyes looked into her troubled green eyes calmly.  He glanced at her wrists and frowned.  He placed a hand on her arm.

“You’re not going to take a swing at me if I take these off, are you, Miss Duvarnos?” 

She shook her head.  He removed them, laying them on the table casually where she could see them.  She remembered a conversation with Myrrielle on a rare occasion when he had talked with her about his job and how he interrogated people.

“First you make them uncomfortable, but not too much so.  Then you put them in your debt by relieving their discomfort.  You want to constantly remind them of their discomfort, though, so they will want to avoid it.  The mere sight of shackles can have a powerful effect on someone because of what they represent, so you leave them in sight.  Make them feel that you are friendly by being deliberately informal.  Then you give them things that are of no consequence, such as the time, information about their families and loved ones, small little tidbits that are of no consequence to you.  Encourage them to give you something in return.  Pretty soon you can get them to give you anything in exchange for almost nothing.  Even the simplest thing, a glass of water, can tantalize a person until they will reveal themselves just because they want it if it is denied to them.  The trick to withstanding any kind of interrogation is to not desire what they want you to.”

“So, I should not desire you, Myrrielle?” she had asked him laughingly.  For answer he had taken her in his arms.

“You can’t ever not desire me,” he’d whispered softly to her.  He’d made love to her then, making her feel treasured and cherished without limit, as only he could.  She reflected that he was right; not only could she not stop desiring him, she was woefully lacking in incentive.

Coming back to the present, she put her arms around herself and hugged herself tightly.  Then she put her hands in her lap and sat staring at the floor.

“You look sad, Miss Duvarnos.  Deborah.  Is it Deborah or Debbie?

”Miss Duvarnos will do fine, thank you.”  Better to maintain some distance, she thought.  There was something about this man she did not trust. 

He looked at her and smiled disarmingly.

“Miss Duvarnos it is then.  My daughter has a friend named Debbie.  You remind me of her.  She has pretty red hair like yours, too.  She’s a darling little child.” 

Debbie looked at him silently.  He coughed slightly.

“Well, ah, Miss Duvarnos,” he said at last.  “I understand you recently spent a little time on Raznack?”

“Yes, Detective Matthews,” she replied at last.  “A year, to be exact.”

“Oh, my, that’s awfully formal.  Why don’ t you just call me Bill?” he said.  He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.  She said nothing.

“Ahem.  What can you tell me about Raznack, Debbie?”  She said nothing.  “Ah, Miss Duvarnos, excuse me,” he corrected himself.  “Formal.  I forgot.”

“Raznack is a marginally habitable planet that lies in an eccentric orbit around a red dwarf-blue giant binary star pair.” 

Her lengthy silence brought his eyebrows up in an arch.

“What’s life like there?” he persisted. 

“Most of the plant life is dioecious, showing extreme sexual dimorphism.  The native animals on the other hand are true hermaphrodites.  The seas are poisonous.”

Detective Matthews looked totally confused.   He tried another tack.

“What are the people like?” 

She shrugged.

“They’re people, just like you find everywhere else.  They live, they die, they have jobs, families, homes.” 

He seized upon this.

“Oh, Debbie, I mean, Miss Duvarnos, I wanted to tell you that your daughter is fine.  She’s in good hands.  Your father came and picked her up a few minutes ago.  We can’t very well keep children in a secure installation such as this.” 

Nor had they wanted to.  The child had howled inconsolably all the time they’d had her there.  Several people had tried to comfort her, to no avail, until a woman detective took her in her arms and held her.  Miranda continued to fuss, but at a lesser intensity and volume at least.  Laura Dean seemed to have a way with children, surprising to some as she was single and a dedicated career officer.   It wasn’t until Stan had come and taken her in his arms that Miranda had subsided at last, falling silent in his arms, to the great relief of everyone in the facility.  He’d held her on his lap, deftly folding paper airplanes for her to clutch at, and answered their questions pleasantly but vaguely until they let him go. 

Debbie said nothing.

“I believe he was your father?  Stan Duvarnos?” 

She nodded. 

“Is that short for Stanley or something?”

“Konstantin,” she said quietly.

“Ah!  Thank you.  I knew it was something like that.”  He eyed her hopefully.  “I understand your father was on Raznack also?” 

She nodded.

“He’s some kind of Consultant?” 

She knew he was fishing for an opening.  Everything she’d told him was readily available for five minutes of time on the planet-net.

“Yes,” she said pleasantly.  “Daddy’s a Metallurgist.”

“A who-what?” Matthews asked, obviously having no idea what that meant.

“He’s a Metallurgist.  He advises people on how to mine and extract ores, and alloy and work metals.”

“I see.  Thank you.” 

Obviously he did not see; he hadn’t a clue.  She did not reply. 

“What were you doing on Raznack, Deb--er, Miss Duvarnos?”

“I went along to keep him company, and to act as a Consultant.”

“You’re a Consultant also?”  He sounded pleased at this voluntary contribution.  “In what field, Debbie?”  She looked away and did not answer.  “Er, excuse me, Miss Duvarnos.” 

She looked at him and smiled then.

“I’m a Polymer Chemist, Detective Matthews.”

“Oh, I see.  How interesting.”  Clearly he had no idea what she meant.

“Polymers are wonderful substances,” she said, smiling at him.  “They’re such versatile chemicals.  You find them everywhere in Nature.  They’re like the glue that holds the universe together.  Kind of like cosmic rubber cement.”  She warmed to her subject, and for the next fifteen minutes extolled the virtues of chemicals in general and polymers in particular, watching his eyes begin to glaze over.  Every time he tried to change the subject, she skillfully brought it back.  At last there was a knock on the door.  A tall, dark haired man stuck his head in the door.

“Bill, excuse me.  There’s a call for you on line one.  It’s your wife.”

“Thanks, Pete.  Tell her I’ll be right there.”  He looked relieved.  “Deb, er, Miss Duvarnos, could you excuse me for a few minutes, please?” 

She nodded silently.  He left.  She got up and stretched, walking around the cramped little room slowly.

“How’s it going, Bill?” 

Detective Matthews sighed in frustration.

“Pete, I’ve had more luck getting information out of dead people.  It’s like she knows what I’m trying to do, and she counters it every time.” 

His friend chuckled. 

“I saw that through the two-way.  You’re going to have to be brighter than the average sewer rat with this one, Billy boy!”  He patted him on the shoulder.  “Try again.  I’ll rescue you in another half hour.  If that doesn’t work we can always put her on ice until morning.”

“Won’t you please have a seat, Miss Duvarnos?” he said in a firm tone when he returned.  She hesitated for just a moment.  Then she sat down.  He poured the glass half full of water.  She looked away, staring at the wall behind him.  “Now, where were we?  You were telling me about Raznack, I believe.”  She smiled slightly.

“I was?” 

He missed the irony.

“Tell me about your child’s father, Miss Duvarnos.”  His tone was firm and commanding.  She looked at him for a moment.

“I can’t,” she said simply.

“Tell me his name.”

“No.” 

He stared at her.  Then he took a deep breath.  Then he wrote something on the yellow pad.

“Father has no name,” he said slowly.  “What did he do?  How did he make his living?”

“He kept animals,” she said at last, hoping Vyrrim would forgive her for calling it an animal. 

His face brightened.

“Ah!  Now we’re getting somewhere.”  He sounded pleased.  He wrote something else.  “Was he a farmer?” 

She shook her head slightly.

“He kept wild animals.”

“Ah.  A zookeeper?”

“More like a kennel master,” she said after a moment’s reflection.  A jail was, after all, rather like a kennel. 

He wrote on the pad again.

“Father was a kennel master.”  He smiled at her.  “Where did you meet him?”

“At a cocktail party.” 

“I see.  Did you see each other frequently?”

“Yes.”

“What attracted you to him?”

“We had a mutual interest, Detective Matthews.”

“Oh, what might that be?”

“Torture, Detective Matthews.”  She watched as his mouth dropped open.  It closed slowly. 

“Come again?” he said at last.

“We were both interested in the practical aspects of torture, Detective Matthews,” she repeated, as if trying to teach a very dull child.

“Uh, like, S and M?” 

She smiled.

“No.  MS.  Like the Marquis de Sade.”  He scribbled on the pad.

“Were you aware that he had been involved in some kind of genetic experiments?

“He was involved in cloning.”

“Was he himself a clone,” Matthews persisted.

“No.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have reason to believe that his genetic material might be useful or helpful to furthering the purposes of humanity on this planet?” 

Her brow furrowed.

“I don’t think I understand your question.”

“Do you think that his genetic material might contain anything that might be of value to us?” 

She stared at him blankly, pondering what he meant. 

Finally he lost his patience. 

“Dammit, girl, is it of any strategic importance to us?  Can we use it to our benefit militarily?” 

At last she fathomed his meaning.  A chill ran through her.  She wasn’t going to have any child of hers taken away and used for some military project.  She laughed slightly.

“I’m afraid not, Detective.  It’s just everyday ordinary Raznackai DNA.  What’s so special about that?” 

He sighed.

So you met him at this cocktail party.  What then?”

“We talked.”

“About torture?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” 

He turned his face away for a moment. 

“When did you meet next?”

“The next day.  I moved into his apartment.”

Matthews’ eyebrows rose.

“Fast worker,” he commented sarcastically. 

She looked around the room, ignoring him.

“So, you meet this guy and in a few weeks you’re having his baby?”

“Something like that.” 

“And now you’re pregnant again?” 

She looked at him coldly.

“I am NOT pregnant!”

“Are you sure?  Their experts have sworn an affidavit to the effect that you are.” 

She stared at him.

“If you don’t believe me, why don’t you do a blood test and find out,” she said, her voice deadly calm. 

He opened the file folder and pulled out a sheet of paper.  He pushed it across the table to her and held out a pen.

“Sign this form and I will,” he said coolly. 

Damn!  She’d walked right into a trap. 

“All right.” 

He handed her a pen and she signed it after reading it carefully.

“While you’re at it, Miss Duvarnos, you can sign the forms giving your permission for us to run a paternity test on your daughter and yourself.”  He handed her two more papers. 

She hesitated. 

“What’s the matter?  Afraid it will prove you’re not her mother?”

“No,” she said calmly and signed the papers with a slightly less than steady hand.

“Thank you, Miss Duvarnos,” he said crisply.  “I’ll get one from your father in the morning.  It would be very interesting if it turned out that he is Miranda’s father.” 

Suddenly it hit her; he would turn out to be, because he was her father, and Miranda was an exact copy of her.  The potential implications were staggering.  It could ruin his entire career.  She put her hands over her face and shuddered. 

Seeing her reaction, he misinterpreted it in the direction of his thoughts.  He snorted disdainfully.

‘Truth hurts, doesn’t it, Debbie, my dear?  I daresay you two have earned your letters.  I for incest,” he sniggered. 

She made no reaction. 

He stood up to leave.

“Wait!” 

He looked down at her.

“What is it, Miss Duvarnos?” he asked with a sneer.

“You have what you want, Detective Matthews.”  She gestured to the file folder.  “May I go now?  I’d like to get home to my daughter.” 

He looked at her in amusement.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.  “I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere, Miss Duvarnos.  The Government of Raznack has requested that we keep you in our custody until their emissary arrives in a few days.  You’ll remain here as our guest until they can arrange extradition.”  He sniggered at her frightened look.  “That will give us time to get those test results back also.  It will be interesting to see where you’ve been whoring, you hot little tramp.”  He smiled condescendingly at her.  “Welcome to the Criminal Investigation Bureau, Miss Duvarnos.  I hope you enjoy your stay.”  He watched a look of horror creep slowly across her face, and laughed.  He took the handcuffs from the table and cuffed her hands behind her back again, closing them on her wrists tightly; she did not move or offer any resistance.

“Come, Debbie, my dear, you little whore,” he sniggered.  His hands slid down her chest, fondling her breasts for a while, before sliding down across her belly.  One hand slid inside her skirt, and the other around to her buttock.  He groped, feeling for her womanly cleft, thrusting his fingers inside her harshly, jabbing painfully as he pressed her against his arousal.  His hips rubbed against her suggestively. 

“Nice, nice,” he said, forcing her close against his pelvis.  She tried to back away, and he steered her so that she backed into the table.  She leaned backward, away from him, and he pressed into her harder.  She whimpered with pain and fear. 

“Yes, I know you want me, dear, you hot little tramp,” he said, rubbing against her.  “But I’m smarter than that.  I’m not going to get my DNA in your trap.”  He pressed hard against her, grunting as his hips moved until he found release.  He moaned with pleasure then.  He took his hand out of her and smelt it before wiping it dry on her blouse.

“That was a very nice appetizer.  I’ll have to come back and sample the main course sometime.  I wouldn’t want you getting lonely.”  He slapped her on the rear sharply.  

“Come on, dear, I’ll show you to your room.  There isn’t much view, and the food stinks, but you can’t beat the price.”   He laughed as he led her away to a solitary confinement cell in the maximum-security area of the jail.  He sat her on the edge of the bed and removed her handcuffs.  He stroked her cheek gently with his hand.  He bent and kissed her on the lips, his hand sliding inside her skirt for a moment.  He pinched her breasts.

“Pleasant dreams, Deborah,” he smirked.  “I’ll come back and see you sometime, when I can stay longer.  Then we can take up where we left off,” he whispered suggestively.

Debbie hardly heard him, hardly noticed him or her surroundings at all.  His jibes made no impression on her; she was numb.  In her desire for a child of her own, she’d inadvertently wrought havoc with the lives of others.  The mere

accusation of incest, even if proven unfounded later, could completely destroy her father’s life and livelihood.  She was very apprehensive as a result of the Detective’s behavior.  She was emotionally devastated, miserable beyond tears.  She sat huddled on the edge of the bed until at last a jail matron came in and put her to bed.

At breakfast in the morning she halfheartedly tasted the food.  Everything was so salty it made her gag.  She put it back.  A laboratory technician came and drew her blood; she scarcely noticed. 

At lunch she did the same with the food.  At supper, she managed to force down a bowl of soup.  She thought of Myrrielle, and his gentle encouragement, and wept bitter tears.  It wasn’t long before everything she’d eaten came back up.

Stan came to see her the next day.  He politely but firmly refused to allow them to test him for paternity purposes.

“I know I’m not the father, and that will have to be good enough for you, Detective Matthews.”

Detective Matthews gave him the run-around for a couple of hours.  Then he finally allowed him to see her for fifteen minutes.  Stan was shocked; she was pale and trembling, and she seemed dull and lifeless.  He fed her a candy bar and a can of soda and managed to get her to drink some water.  He asked about bail and was informed that since she was being held at the request of a foreign government she was a political prisoner and could not be let out on bail. 

Frustrated, he drove across town to see an old school buddy.  Nelson Merrick was a close personal friend and an excellent lawyer.  Nelson was a big man; he’d put himself through Law school by playing pro football.  He’d been just as feared on the football field as he was in the courtroom.  He had a reputation for sinking his lawyerly teeth into a problem and chewing until he’d made a big enough hole to reach in and take anything he wanted.  He shook his head.

“A political prisoner, eh?”  He chuckled heartily.  “I can hardly believe it.  I remember when Debbie was knee high to a test tube.”  He understood Stan’s agitation, however.

“I’ll see what I can do.  At the very least, maybe I can pull a few strings and get them to give her a salt-free diet.”  He went to see her. 

Detective Matthews asked him if he was coming as a friend or in his professional capacity.  Merrick looked at him coldly.

“I’ve been Debbie’s lawyer ever since she’s been old enough to need one.” 

That was when she’d asked him to draw up adoption papers for her so she could adopt a frog to save it from dissection in Biology class in the fifth grade.  It didn’t work, but they still laughed about it.  Matthews backed down grumpily, and he got in to see her.

“And don’t give me any of this ‘fifteen minutes’ crap, Detective,” he said ominously, “or I’ll have your shield.”

She was painfully thin.  She looked up at him and her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Uncle Nelson,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around him.  “I’m in so much trouble,” she wailed miserably. 

While they talked he fed her a couple of candy bars and a can of soda and an orange he’d slipped into his pocket just in case.  Not exactly a world-class diet, nutrition wise, but he reasoned she was too ill for that to matter much at the moment.  She tearfully told him about Detective Matthews’ behavior.  His lips compressed into a tight, thin line.

“I can do something about him, Debbie, don’t worry.  I’ll see to it he doesn’t bother you again.”  They talked for some time.  At last he had to go.  She clung to him like a little cocklebur.

“It’s all right, Debbie.”  He kissed her forehead gently.  “Uncle Nelson’s going to see what he can do.  You keep your chin up.  And don’t go signing any more papers without consulting me.”  He tweaked her chin playfully.  She nodded tearfully.

Merrick went to see a judge he knew, an old fishing buddy from way back.  Things began to change.

Suddenly Matthews found himself pulled off the case and reassigned to other work for a few months.  A different detective was assigned to the case, an attractive woman with a ready smile, blonde hair the color of twenty-four carat gold and a sensible, compassionate manner.  She introduced herself to Debbie and talked with her briefly.  Detective Laura Dean noted Debbie’s withdrawn, defensive manner and suspicious, almost paranoid attitude toward her and other jail personnel.  She went to see the Captain, and Matthews’ reassignment was extended. 

The next food Debbie was served was unsalted.  She managed to eat most of it and it stayed down.  A social worker came to see her, and she was shocked at Debbie’s appearance and behavior; she was very thin and withdrawn.  The social worker talked to Detective Dean and between them they arranged for Stan to bring Miranda to see Debbie for a couple of hours each afternoon.  Her emotional state began to improve.

Ted Burgess came to see her.  He was distressed to see her looking so frail and unhappy.  He tried to comfort her.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Debbie.  You just get better and get this thing straightened out.  We’re behind you a hundred percent.  I’ve found someone to take over your classes for now, so don’t worry about that at all.  She’s a lovely lady.  She came here from Raznack originally, and I swear she’s a dead ringer for you.  She looks so much like you she could be your identical twin, almost.  Her name is Betty Cameron, Elizabeth actually, but everyone calls her Betty.  She’s in your same field, too, she’s a Polymer Chemist.”  He enthused about this woman for some time. 

Debbie could hardly keep a straight face.

“Perhaps she’d like to sublet my apartment,” Debbie mused.  “It would certainly give the neighbors something to talk about.

“Maybe I should suggest that to her,” Ted said.

“Go right ahead, Ted.  The more the merrier,” she quipped, barely managing to contain her mirth until after he left.  Then she laughed a little, until she started to cry.  She cried for some time, stifling her sobs with her pillow.

“Oh, Myrrielle,” she said sadly.  “I hope you come and find me soon.”  She cried herself to sleep, to dream of dark brown eyes with a vertical pupil staring into her eyes and a warm body snuggled close against hers.

Nelson Merrick requested the results of the laboratory tests.  He was politely refused.

“As her attorney you may attend the extradition hearing, and request that the results be made public then, if you wish.  But the government of Raznack is the only agency that has access to those results at this time.”  At least that meant that they weren’t going to become public knowledge.  He and Debbie would find out in good time.  And with that he had to be content.

Twelve days after Field Agents Cordera and Johnson brought Debbie in for questioning, a short, slender, gruff little man came to the front desk of the Criminal Investigations Bureau.  His expensively tailored suit hung somewhat loosely on him, as if he’d lost weight recently.  His deep brown eyes were slightly sunken, but they burned with an inner fire.  He stood all of perhaps five and a half foot, and he was very muscular looking.  He gave the appearance of a very intense young man on a very important mission.  He also appeared rather nervous.  The receptionist regarded him cautiously.

“How may I help you, Sir?” she asked pleasantly enough.  He turned his dark gaze on her.  He favored her with a warm smile.

“I am Lord Griffendahl from Raznack.  I believe you are holding a prisoner for us.  Dr. Deborah Duvarnos.  We would like to see her.”

“We?” she questioned, cocking one eyebrow at him dubiously.

“My associate is outside parking the car,” he explained. “He will be in shortly.”  She motioned to an area with seating on the far side of the room.

“If you’ll just have a seat over there, Sir, I’ll have to page the Detective in charge of the case.  You’ll have to talk to her first.” 

The man seemed impatient.  He growled irritably under his breath as he went over to a row of chairs and sat down. 

A tall, black-haired man came in shortly and joined him.  He was devastatingly handsome, trim and well built, his muscular shoulders tapering to a trim waist beneath his gray golf shirt and casual black slacks.  It was Nick.  Several women turned their heads to watch him as he walked over and sat down beside the short nervous man in the finely tailored suit. He draped one arm casually around the shorter man’s shoulders.  One woman sighed, looked heavenward and rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath.

“Curse this waiting!” Griffendahl said angrily.  “I’m tempted to just go up there now.” 

Nick restrained him gently.

“And get shot?  This place is lousy with armed police officers itching to test their trigger fingers.  This is not Raznack.  Here, dead is dead.  Just relax, Griff.  It ain’t over till the Judge signs on the dotted line.  Just be in love casually.”  He tightened his arm momentarily around the fidgeting older man’s shoulders. 

Griffendahl leaned his head against Nick’s shoulder.

“I’m trying, Nickolas, I’m trying.  But what if it doesn’t work?  What if she refuses to come back with us?”

“Don’t worry, Griff.  With all the charges we filed against her, they’ll have to hand her over to us, one way or another.  It ‘s just a matter of getting a court date and having a hearing.  We can’t lose.”

Griffendahl fidgeted in his seat.  He turned to Nick. 

“How do I look, boy?” he asked anxiously for perhaps the twentieth time that day.  

Nick’s lips twitched in a smile.

“Relax, Griff, you look just fine.  Besides, we both know it’s your body she really wants,” he smirked.  “Now settle down before I have to knock you down and sit on you.” 

Griffendahl bristled. 

“You muss my suit and you’ll pay, boy.” 

Nick sighed resignedly.

“I’m going to pay anyway.  You’ll see to that.  Between you and Taffy lately I haven’t had a moment’s peace.  I’ve been falling asleep at work.  I’ll be glad to get Debbie back to Raznack and at least get one of you off my back!” 

Griffendahl looked at him in mock exasperation.

“I thought you liked it that way, Nickolas!” 

Nick grinned and gave him a playful punch.

“Shuddup!  People are listening!”  He held the older man a little tighter, sensing his need for reassurance. 

Griffendahl began to relax slightly.

“Nickolas, my boy, I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“You’d have done some damn fool thing like run after her and taken her off that shuttle bodily.  This way she’ll know what it’s like without you.  She won’t ever want to leave again, believe you me.”

“I hope you’re right, Nickolas.  I just hope you’re right.” 

They sat silently, each wrapped in their own thoughts.  Soon an attractive blonde woman of about thirty-five stepped off the elevator. Her navy blue skirt and blazer were well tailored, and the pale green silk blouse she wore with it contrasted nicely with the twenty-four karat gold blonde of her hair.  She went to the receptionist.

“You said the men from Raznack had arrived?” 

The receptionist waved at the seating area.

“Yeah.  The gay boys, Detective Dean.”  She gave a snort of disgust. 

The blond woman scanned the area quickly.

“I see several gay couples, Tabitha.  Which ones were you referring to?”

“I only see one.  Misters Town and Country.  Over there.”  She pointed at them.  “You can’t miss ‘em.” 

Laura looked in the direction she was pointing. 

“The tall dark young man and the short, slender one?” she asked at last.

“Yep, that’s them.  Can’t miss ‘em.” 

The blond woman sighed and made her way over toward the two men, making a mental note to recommend the receptionist for some sensitivity training as soon as possible.  She went to them, standing a few feet away, studying them for a few moments.

“Are you the two gentlemen from Raznack?” 

Griffendahl jumped, startled.  Nick smiled and put his arm around the smaller man.

“Calm down, old man.  It’s just the advance forces,” Nick said. 

Griffendahl blushed.  Laura Dean studied him with interest, wondering why the casually dressed man had referred to his companion as “old”.

“Yes, we are,” Nick said to her calmly.  “And you are?”

“I’m Detective Laura Dean.  I was assigned to this case shortly after we picked up Dr. Duvarnos.”

“I’m Nickolas Kelanderias, and this lovesick, nervous old curmudgeon is my long-time associate, Lord Griffendahl.” 

She shook hands with them both.  The shorter man’s palm was damp with sweat.  He seemed rather nervous.  She surreptitiously dried her hand on the back of her skirt.

“If you’d come up to my office I’d like to talk with you for just a few minutes.  There have been some developments in this case that I’d like to discuss with you before you see Dr. Duvarnos.” 

Griffendahl looked at her with a penetrating gaze.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded gruffly. “Has something happened to her?  Has she been injured?” 

The detective hesitated.

“She’s all right now,” she said slowly at last.  “She’s just been a little ill.”

“WHAT?” he roared. 

Across the lobby a uniformed officer looked up suddenly, his hand reaching for his gun.  The detective winced and covered her ears.  Several people turned to look at them.  Nick put his arm around him.

“Now, take it easy, Griff!  Calm down,” Nick adjured him.  “Take it easy!”  He gave the woman a questioning look.

“It’s nothing serious,” she hastily assured them.  “I just wanted to warn you before you went in to see her.” 

The elevator opened and she hastily chivvied them into it before they could disturb the lobby any further.  Griffendahl muttered under his breath until the elevator doors opened at last and she led them to an office down a long corridor.  She sat down behind her desk.

“Please be seated, gentlemen.”  She pulled a file folder from her desk and put it on the blotter. 

They sat down slowly.  Griffendahl perched on the edge of his seat.  Nick sat back and relaxed.

“First of all, I want you gentlemen to understand that I was assigned to this case after it began.  All I know about it prior to my assignment is that two of our Field Agents contacted the suspect at the University and after preliminary questioning they arrested her and brought her in for further interrogation.” 

Griffendahl fairly leapt off his seat.

“WHAT?” he roared. 

She winced.  Nick hastily plopped him back in his chair.

“Take it easy, Griff!  It doesn’t mean the same thing here that it does on Raznack.  Calm down!” 

He subsided at last.  She eyed him warily.

“Anyway, they said she seemed in good spirits, a little shocked but we kind of expect that.  Then the detective on the case at the time questioned her at some length.  After he left her in a cell the jail matron said she seemed extremely disturbed, almost catatonic.  She refused food for a couple of days and apparently she was rather ill for a few more days.  She lost some weight--.” 

She saw Nick’s grip tighten on the other man’s shoulder.  Nick shot him a warning look. 

“She’s doing much better now.  She seems to be regaining some of that weight.    Since I’ve been on the case, her father has been bringing the baby by for a couple of hours a day—.”

“A couple of hours?  That’s outrageous!” Griffendahl bellowed.  “They need each other!”

She covered her ears again.

“Look, sir, if you’re going to continue making so much noise I’ll have to have you removed.  I really don’t want to do that, as I can see you’re very emotionally involved in this situation, but please, try to control yourself.  At least your voice, sir.”

Griffendahl muttered an apology and she continued.

“Anyway, she seems to be somewhat disturbed still.  Some of the jail staff have reported that she repeatedly calls out in her sleep for someone, a Muriel or Mariel.

Griffendahl groaned.

“Myrrielle.” 

“Do you know who this individual is?” she asked. 

Griffendahl gave her a harsh look.

“It’s me,” he said gruffly.  “Myrrielle is my given name.  At least it’s the name that was given to me by my foster mother, and she’s the only mother I ever had.”

“I see.”  The detective looked thoughtful.  “That concerns me.  It seems she frequently is heard begging this individual not to hurt her.”

“Way to go, Griff,” Nick chided him as they sat waiting in Detective Dean’s office over an hour later.  “You go chasing halfway across the galaxy after the woman you love, and wind up being investigated for possible abuse charges.”

“It’s because of her nightmares, I know it is,” Griffendahl muttered angrily.

“Well, you have to admit it was a pretty terrifying experience.  I’d have had nightmares too.”

“She shouldn’t have been there to begin with.  It shouldn’t have happened.”

“You encouraged her.  You gave her the laboratory in the first place.  I suppose you caused the power failure?  Stop blaming yourself, Griff.  You act like it’s your fault.”

“It’s not my fault, Nickolas!  How was I to know someone would try to kidnap her?  It was supposed to be a secure corridor!  It was, until we hit that massive radiation stream.  If that stupid wyvern hadn’t pulled that stunt we wouldn’t be in this trouble in the first place!”

“It did what it did out of its love for both of you.  It was just trying to help.  And if you think about it, that wyvern’s pretty smart, Griff.  It made sure Debbie thought it was you.”

“That damned beast,” Griffendahl muttered darkly.  “When we get back I’m going to kill it!” 

Nick chuckled.  He put an arm around Griffendahl and hugged him tightly for a moment.

“Whoa, calm down!  Wait a minute, Griff.  We need our garbage disposal!” Nick chided him.  “Besides, it did save her life, and I think she’s kind of fond of it.” 

Griffendahl groaned.

“What am I going to do, Nickolas?  I can’t live without her, and from the sounds of things she isn’t doing too well without me.   She didn’t have any weight to lose, and I worked damn hard putting that on her.  I suppose now we’ll be right back to square one with the salt, too.  I’d just gotten her to where she’d tolerate a little bit of salt in her food.  Damn!  What’s a lover to do?”   He looked imploringly at Nick.

“Calm down and relax, Griff, it’ll be okay.  You’re like a mother hen with three little chicks, Debbie, Miranda and Alanna.  It doesn’t do for you to have twins, Griff.

“I just hope your Taffy takes good care of Alanna while we’re here.  I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her, Nickolas.  She’s all I’ve got left.” 

“She’ll be all right, Griff.  Settle down,” Nick said soothingly, rubbing his back comfortingly.  “We’ll get Debbie and Miranda back.  Try not to worry.”

“What if Alanna forgets me while I’m gone?  Do you suppose she’ll even know who I am when we get back?”  He was balancing on the edge of his seat tensely. 

Nick smiled.

“Griff, relax.  You’re sounding like a neurotic parent.”

“I am not!” Griffendahl snapped. 

Nick chuckled.  He draped one arm around the nervous little man and pulled him back into his seat.

“You’re going to need a sedative if you keep this up.  Try not to be so upset.”

“Upset?  You want to see upset?  You let me get my hands on the crummy detective that molested Debbie.  I’d teach him a few things about interrogating people.  Grrr!”  He seethed with impotent fury. 

Nick smiled at him.

“Admit it, Griff, you love her.” 

He looked at Nick, tears in his eyes.

“More than I ever thought was possible, Nickolas.  I’d die for her if I could.”

“I know.  So would I.”  He glanced at his watch.  He leaned over and whispered something into Griffendahl”s ear.  The latter looked at him, puzzled.

“Are you sure?” 

Nick smirked and pointed to his watch.  A red light deep within the face was slowly blinking on and off.  Somewhere in the room an electronic surveillance device was in use.

“Do you like it?  I made it myself.”

“Very clever, Nickolas, my dear boy.  Very clever.”  They sat back to wait.