The Virtual Season

"Heritage"

TEASER

Mel refilled Vic and Cole's coffee cups, barely noticed by either man as they poured over the recording of Lana's latest telephone conversation. Cole had reached a deal of sorts with Vic, to keep his source's anonymity. Cole would translate the 'code' that was being used with increasing frequency, and tapes would keep coming in. Vic was always the middle-man in these exchanges, bringing the tapes to Cole and carrying away the translations at the end of the night's work.

"My condolences on the death of Doctor Magan, Stashia," Lana's low voice filtered over the speakers. "It was most tragic."

The words that followed barely sounded like words at all. There were not the harsh tones of the Vardian tongue, but the lyrical strains of the Enixian language.

Hitting pause, Cole quietly translated for Vic, "Tragic enough for me, perhaps, but he was a dead man anyway from the moment he agreed to oppose you."

Vic wrote for a moment and then nodded to Cole to continue the tape. Cole hit the play button again, treating them to Lana's laughter, laughter that would have sounded pleasant if they had not known Lana as well as they did.

"You misjudge me, Stashia. I was not without compassion for the bind the good Doctor found himself in."

Lana laughed again. "Perhaps so, but his success would have benefited me greatly."

"She mourns the death of her husband. In his infinite compassion, Neko has taken it upon himself to... comfort her."

Lana chuckled softly. "Jealous, Stashia? Shall I see the young widow returned to your service?"

"You are kindness itself, Doctor, but I am not without women of my own to see to my... comfort."

"Of this I am certain," Lana agreed, mild distaste coloring her tone. "To more pressing matters, then?"

"It nears completion on schedule," she assured him. "Will you require another man of Magan's talents? I am certain that Haag could find one to spare..."

Cole did not bother translating Stashia's next words, settling for, "He curses her and questions her paternity."

Cole shrugged. "It is well for him that her paternity has always been in question. Most Vardians would kill over such an insult." He paused, listening to the tape again. "He says that she must set aside her quarrel with Haag."

Lana's response was a harsh bark of Vardian, followed by a dial-tone. Cole looked up at Vic. "So am I," he translated simply, turning off the tape and rising. "I must learn more of this 'project' of Lana's," he told Vic. "She may be making another attempt to free Zin."

"She is the one he sent to London last week. He must have failed in his mission."

"I would assume she sent him to kill Haag," Cole said, shrugging. "Haag had his wife. He must have sent Magan to kill Lana and she sent him back to kill Haag instead. That's what she said. Ayjata thera ayjata, jya Neko." Cole shrugged. "Blood repays blood, Doctor Neko."

"God, no wonder they've stopped speaking English over the phone." Vic shook his head and scribbled down those words as well. "How can she just casually order a man to send another man on a suicide mission to kill a political enemy?" he demanded.

"She is Lana." He shrugged. "I must go now. Nestov has information on some fugitives for me."

"Tired, he's tired," Mel answered softly, shrugging and shaking her head. "He has a lot to deal with right now."

"Don't we all," Vic sighed, folding his transcriptions and tucking them into his pocket.

"Some more than others, maybe." Mel shrugged and dropped onto the couch next to him. "I'm worried about him, Vic," she admitted. "He hasn't been himself since Lana gave us that damn drug..."

It was hard to explain to Vic the impression that they were both only getting worse as time passed. Their relationship was deteriorating just as rapidly as their mental states, too. Everything they had gained in London was gone, had been since the moment Cole had fled her bedroom, leaving Vic and Nestov to deal with her and locking himself in the war room.

That had been the first time, but he had been doing it more and more routinely lately, until she was not even sure if he was in the house most of the time unless she physically bumped into him. That had happened, too. She would get up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and bump into Cole as he stood in the dark living room, staring out the window or at nothing at all, lost in his own reflections.

She sighed and gave Vic a weak smile. "Well, you'd better get those translations to... whoever."

"Yeah. Guess Cole's not the only one who's still weak," she lied, not wanting him to worry. He had troubles of his own. It was as he had said: they ALL had a lot to deal with... "Night, Vic."

"Yeah." Vic sighed and nodded. "Get those tapes out of sight, will you?" he asked abruptly. "I don't like you having them just lying around."

Vic gave her a faint smile, then turned and left, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the translations. All four of them might have been playing games with their own lives and freedom, but at least they were doing some good in the process.

Mark looked up at Jess' return to the apartment. "You're home earlier than I thought you'd be, Jessica."

"Yeah, well, my dad needed his rest." She shrugged faintly. "I'm going back to see him again in the morning. We'll talk more then."

She bit her lower lip and nodded. "Yeah. We talked and..." She trailed off, blinking back tears. "I don't think he's too healthy," she whispered shakily.

"Oh, Jessica," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her. "Did he tell you something was wrong?"

"Hush," Mark urged, turning her and steering her down the hall. "Let's get you to bed, Jessica," he suggested.

She shook her head, stalling at her bedroom door. "I've never been less tired in my life, Mark."

"Okay, then we'll just talk. Come on." He gently nudged her into the room. "Kate's asleep already," he added. "Get changed and I'll go make us a pot of tea."

Jess watched him go, then shrugged off her clothes and pulled on a nightshirt and robe. Sighing softly, she sat down on the edge of her bed, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest and rocking slightly.

"Tea, sovereign cure for all British ills. Hugs work, too." Mark spoke quietly from the door, setting two cups of tea on her desk and sitting down next to her. "Come here, Jessica," he directed, extending his arms.

She shook her head and leaned away from him, pulling in on herself. "I don't need you babying me," she muttered bitterly.

"Even adults need other people sometimes," Mark sighed. "I tried for so many years not to need anyone, especially after Mel's mom died." He shook his head. "If you don't let other people in..." He touched one hand to her heart. "If you don't love, you don't have to worry as much about the fact that everyone leaves eventually." He sighed deeply, letting his hand fall away. "But you can't spend your life alone and afraid, either, Jessica."

Jess closed her eyes and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Mark sighed and hugged her close. His grip on her tightened spasmodically as he heard her fist sob. Murmuring soothingly, he cradled her against his chest, rocking her until she cried herself out.

"You'll be able to sleep now," he promised, smiling reassuringly and gently pushing her back against her pillow. He brushed her hair out of her face and reached for the tie of her robe, pausing when he felt her hand against his wrist. "Yeah, Jessica?" he asked gently.

"Oh, Jessica," he whispered, shaking his head. It was not the first time a woman who had known the truth about what he was capable of had begged him to help a sick family member. "It's not that easy..."

"Injuries are easy. Illness is..." He shook his head and whispered, "I'm sorry."

She pushed away far enough to look him in the eyes. "I... I'll do anything, Mark," she whispered, bowing her head. "Anything. Please..." She took a deep breath and looked up at him, reaching for his face with shaking hands and an expression of resigned self-loathing.

"No," he said, catching her hands and shaking his head. "No, not like this. Never like this, Jessica." He shook his head again. "I wish I could help you, and if I could, I would in a second and I wouldn't expect a damned thing in return, especially not that. No decent man would EVER make that a condition of helping a woman who needs help."

Mark caught her chin, gently forcing it up before continuing. "Look at me, Jessica," he ordered quietly. "You are tired and confused and upset right now. You think that the fact that I'm not human, that I can do things that no human can, means I have all the answers. I wish I did, but I don't. I'm sorry."

Jess lowered her head, tears in her eyes. "God, Mark, you must think I'm some kind of--"

"Woman who loves her father," he interrupted firmly. "That's all, Jessica. Just a woman who would do anything to help her father. And a woman who's been used badly in the past, but still a good woman. I can feel that here." He rested one hand lightly against her heart.

"You're an easy woman to be kind to." Mark smiled warmly at her. "Come here, woman," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her again.

"I'll try," he promised, pushing her back against the pillow again. "No promises, Jessica, but I will try." He smiled down at her, straightening her hair. "Now get some sleep."

"No, you won't," Mark promised, passing his hand over her face and releasing a soothing burst of energy, easing her into a deep and dreamless sleep. He carefully removed her robe and tucked her in, sighing softly as he reflected on her offer and the kind of past she must have had to make it seem reasonable.

"It must be hard," Kate observed quietly from the door. "Having powers that people see as godlike and not being a god..."

"Harder than you can know, Kitten." Mark sighed and rose, approaching his daughter. "I shouldn't have healed her that night. I should have let the medics handle it. A few stitches, a scar... It would have been so much easier on her."

"You couldn't have known that then, though, Dads." Kate shook her head, taking his hand and leading him to the living room. "Not your fault you think with your heart first. She was hurt, you wanted to help. You HAD to help. It's just who you are."

Mark shook his head bitterly. "Before your grandfather died, your mother begged me to cure him. She was like Jess. She just couldn't understand why I 'refused' to help."

"She didn't about the weapon or the aliens. She just knew that I could heal with a touch. She had a hard birth with you. She would have died... I couldn't lose another wife that way, so I healed her. She was horrified at first, Kitten, but she came to accept it. She never even knew that I wasn't human, just that I could heal..." He shook his head. "I didn't want to burden her with the truth. Another bad call. She died without even knowing what she was dying for."

He nodded faintly. "Treasure-hunters after the weapon, or... maybe just after me." He shrugged. "Zin's advance guard, I suppose. This Haag that Cole was talking about. I tried... SO hard to bring her back..." He bowed his head, burying his face in his hands. "You're right, Kitten. It sucks to have godlike powers and not be a god..."

Kate sighed and looped an arm around his shoulders. "You sometimes talk about teaching me to use the rest of my abilities..."

"You're too young for this, Kitten. You, Mel, Jessica." He shook his head. "I'll teach you if you want, but it really is a double-edged sword. Just think about that before you decide."

"Kate, how much of my conversation with Jess did you hear?" he asked quietly, abruptly and painfully aware of how her offer would have looked to someone unable to feel her conflict and confusion.

"Most of it. The crying woke me. She... Dads, what she offered..." Kate paused. "She was on the streets for a lot of years. She did what she had to so that she could survive. She's never come out and said it, but I always wondered if maybe she didn't always stop at begging and scrounging. After what I saw, I know it for a fact." Kate shrugged.

"How do you feel about that?" Mark asked quietly, hating the idea of Jess losing esteem in anyone's eyes, especially not such a close friend as Kate.

"Yes, she did. That's no sin, Kate. NEVER let yourself think it is. We all do what we have to do, all of us. I've done a hell of a lot worse in my time than let myself be taken advantage of..."

"Dads, how many people HAVE you killed?" Kate whispered. She was certain that he had, at least once, a few months before he had come out of hiding, but she had never had the nerve to broach the subject before.

"Humans? None. THEM... You sure this is something you want to know about your own father, Kate?"

Mark nodded faintly, bowing his head for a moment before looking up at her and answering without shame. "Eight of them in my life. My first was the one who killed my father. The most recent one was a Dessarian who was following you home one night right before the New Year."

Mark nodded faintly. "No one threatened my girls. He was closing on you, slowly enough so you might not have noticed. He WOULD have tried to kill you."

"I'm sure it did. You always were sensitive to life-forces, even before I started nudging you into honing the skill."

Kate opened her mouth to respond and ended up yawning instead. "Oh, sorry, Dads..."

Mark smiled and shook his head. "Go back to sleep, Kate. You have more exams tomorrow. We'll finish this discussion in the afternoon if you want."

"I..." He shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. She's a woman grown but as vulnerable… Love comes when it will."

"I love you too, Kitten." Mark bent and kissed her forehead. "Sleep well," he whispered, passing his hand in front of her face.

He rose and straightened her blankets, staring down at his daughter for a long time before leaving the room. Restless and beset by a nagging sense of impending doom, Mark checked on both young women frequently during the night. Their sleep was untroubled, but he kept going back, anxious and lonelier than he had been in years.

A man who had always trained his children to trust their instincts, he would gratefully have ignored his own that night. Something was coming. Something big. Something dangerous to one or more of his girls. Which, though? And from what quarter?

Shaking his head, he picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. He got the machine.

"Hi, we're not here right now, probably off saving the world. Leave a message and one of us will call you back when we get it."

Mark could not help but grin at the message. "Mel, Princess, it's me. Just thought I'd call and check up on you, make sure you're recovering okay from that business with the drugs and handling everything else without trouble. Call me when you have the time. You keep yourself safe. Oh, and get a less conspicuous message. I love you." Hanging up, he quietly repeated, "I love you."

Shaking his head, he rose and stared out the window, looking to the night sky above, to the star he knew was Migar. His father had pointed it out to him as a child, his voice reverent as he spoke of it and of everything it meant to the Cirronian people.

"Could use a little guidance right now," he murmured to the star. It seemed to twinkle in response. "Call me when you have the time," he suggested, returning to the couch and trying to meditate.

"Third star from the right, am I?" a gentle voice asked. "I've never heard it put so, but it's a charming turn of phrase."

A Cirronian female stepped out of the living room's shadows, not a Cirronian in human form, but a Cirronian in her true form. Willowy, stately, luminous, she was beautiful enough to bring tears to Mark's eyes.

Mark rose quickly and then dropped to his knees. Allan had told him about her: the spiritual embodiment of the Migar star, the mother of the Cirronian race. While not exactly a god, she was still revered for her ability to give life, as well as for her generosity and wisdom.

"Why does my son feel he has to abase himself in my presence?" she asked gently, wrapping a warm hand around his upper arm and urging him to rise.

He immediately clambered to his feet, aware that no true Cirronian would have reacted so in the face of the Universal Mother and duly ashamed.

"THAT does not befit either," she noted gently, gesturing towards the couch. "Shame has no place in the Cirronian intellect."

Mark smiled apologetically and returned to the couch. His dreams had always been quite vivid and imaginative, but this was exceptionally so even by his standards.

"Will you join me?" he offered, gesturing towards the couch. "Can I offer you anything?"

"Not tonight, my son. Perhaps another time. You are troubled," she added, sitting down next to him. "Tell me," she directed, reaching up and lightly stroking his throat.

Calmed by the gesture, Mark found it easy to put words to his mental state. "I... I feel a great sense of dread. The future is uncertain and the answers I seek are denied to me. The girls are in danger. I can feel it."

"Would that I could comfort you that they are not." She regarded him apologetically. "I can only offer you advice and comfort."

"The answers you seek are closer than you think. It will become clear to you quite shortly. As to the safety of these three who look to you... There IS danger, especially to your firstborn. And all will soon be in greater danger still. You are correct: a great threat looms on the immediate horizon."

"Were you not on the opposite end of this conversation only a short while ago?" she asked gently. "Marcus David Porter, beloved only child of Adelaide and Allan Porter... The path you have been set down by Fate is a difficult one, there can be no doubt. But you have Faith and Love to spare. You CAN do this. And you can carry your daughters and dear Jessica through with you and on to safety. It will not be easy, but it is by no means impossible. You have the strength to see this through to the end."

"I can not tell you this. I am reminded of the words of your second-born. It is difficult to have the power of the gods and still be powerless to help those you love. And I DO love you, my son. I have watched you from afar with pride, cried along with you when you have lost those you loved, laughed at your triumphs... You CAN do this. I know this because I know YOU."

"It is well earned. How do humans do this?" she asked, leaning forward and brushing her lips against his. Her luminous glow brightened abruptly and she did not pull away until it had faded back to normal. "Is that right?"

"When you wake up, Marcus David Porter, beloved only child of Adelaide and Allan Porter, you will feel as rested as the women you have helped to their sleep this night. And by afternoon, the answer you seek shall be in your hands. Be comforted."

"For a figment of my imagination, I find you VERY comforting," he assured her gravely.

"A figment am I?" she asked, her entire body shimmering with pulsing, pastel colors. "If you say so, my son. Sleep now," she directed. "And remember that your guiding star is ALWAYS at your disposal," she added, lifting one petite hand to his face. "And never forget to follow your heart first..."

Oblivion overtook him before he could so much as thank her for her words and gestures of comfort.

"Thanks for coming, Mark," Jess said softly as he pulled up to the curb. "I appreciate it."

"No problem, Jessica. I'm just going to stay for a minute, though, and then you get your father to yourself."

"Okay." She nodded, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. "Let's go."

Mark nodded and followed her to the door. "You okay?" he asked, sensing her hesitancy as she raised her hand to knock.

Mark nodded wordlessly, knowing that Jess was more worried that her father might look WORSE. He lightly rested one hand on her shoulder, making his presence known. She nodded to herself and knocked on the door.

"Jessie? That you?" her father asked, opening the door. His lined face broke into a smile. "Ah, yes it is. Who's this with you?"

As soon as Richard accepted it, Mark wished he had not. No wonder Jess had come home upset last night. Her father was a dying man. By rights, he probably should have been dead already. Weak as he was, though, something kept him hanging on, and Mark suspected that the 'something' in question was the young woman standing next to him.

"Nice to meet you," he repeated as Richard released his hand. "I should be going now. Jessica, call me when you need a ride home."

"Thanks, Mark," Jess murmured, trying to read his expression, wondering what, if anything, he had sensed from her father.

"I'm afraid I can't. I have an appointment this morning." Mark smiled at him. "Besides, if it were MY daughter, I'd want some time alone."

"My pleasure." Mark forced a smile, nodding to each before turning and walking quickly to the car.

Jess frowned faintly at his abrupt retreat, uncharacteristic of the Mark she had come to know.

"Come in, Jessie. Come in. I have something for you," Richard told her, steering her into the living room.

"Hang on." Richard disappeared down the hall and returned a few moments later with a large box clutch against his chest. He set it on the coffee-table, panting with effort. "These were your mum's. She wanted me to give them to you when you grew up. Of course, by then..."

As he opened the box and handed her a photo-album, Jess was suddenly able to see why all the Porters were packrats. Holding a piece of the past in her hands was profoundly uplifting, at the same time as it was a bit humbling. She looked up at her father with wide eyes.

"Me, too, Jessie. You take this when you go. I'm honestly not sure exactly what's in here. I... well, it makes me think of your mother, and..."

Jess smiled sadly at him. "It's hard to think about," she agreed. "She was so full of life."

"She was that. Her daughter's mother, through and through." He sighed softly. "Let's dwell on something else today, girl. Something happy?"

"I did okay," she assured him, not wanting to share some of the more painful details of the past several years with a man who obviously had his own share of pain to contend with. "Spent a few years in the States."

"It was... I met this old woman who kind of took me under her wing. She helped me out. I got a job in a bar there for a few years. Now I manage a coffee shop."

"Mark? I met his daughter in the States. Well, one of them. He has a daughter here, too." She shrugged. "I kind of get adopted into the family by default."

"Finally found yourself a place where you could fit in, did you?" he asked softly.

Jess hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I have, dad. They're good to me and they... they accept me and they love me."

"I'm happy for you, girl," he whispered, kissing her cheek. "It's funny, you know... I once believed that a person didn't NEED other people to make them happy. Then your mum got sick." Exhaling deeply, he added, "I'm so sorry, Jessie..."

"Maybe. But YOU were just a kid. You needed me and I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to notice."

"Hindsight's twenty-twenty, Dad," Jess pointed out quietly. "We can't pretend the past eight years never happened but... we can make a new start, a better one. If you want?"

"More than you can imagine, girl," he said, gathering her into his arms and hugging her close.

Mark looked up at the sound of the front door opening, mentally reaching out to feel the new life-force.

"I..." She hesitated, dropping the box in her arms onto the table. "Can you make him healthy again, Mark?" she whispered, staring at him.

"Oh, Jessica..." He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. He... he's a very sick man."

Mark sighed, feeling helpless, and sat down next to her. "I wish there was something I could do... There just isn't."

"I wish I'd never gone looking for him," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "I would never have known better..."

"You'd have been non the wiser," he agreed. "But would you have been any better off then you are now?"

"I..." Jess shook her head in confusion. She took a deep breath, composing herself. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head and straightening. "At least I'll be able to see him before..."

"Yeah, it's something. I'm just not sure WHAT yet." Eager to think of anything other than her sick father, Jess seized on the folder on the table. "Is that Lucy's information?"

"It most certainly is, right down to a face to go with the name." Mark handed a photograph to her and shuffled through the folder. "You and Kate were right. Looks like he faked his death. There's an obituary, but no death report or funeral records. She's still looking, but this is a promising start."

Jess stared thoughtfully at the photo, not really taking in his words. She was almost certain that she had seen the man in the picture before although she could not immediately place him. Shaking off that impression, she handed the picture back to Mark.

"I don't see how he could be after all these years unless he's not human either. Are you sure, Jessica?"

"We all need that sometimes," Mark agreed, squeezing her shoulder. "But I'm here for you if you need anything at all."

Jess nodded and opened the box, pulling out the photo album she had started to look at earlier. She opened it to the first page, to a photo of a dark, smiling woman with a baby in her arms. It was labeled in neat script 'Jessie, 1980'.

"You would have liked her," Jess said, turning the page. "She was... everyone loved her. She was compassionate and gentle and generous..."

"Reminds me of a girl I know," he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Seems like there's a lot of her in you."

She gave him a shaky grin, tears running down her cheeks. "This is how I like to remember her," she said, gesturing towards another picture, this one of her mother and father together in a park, happy and laughing. "Not like she was in that awful hospital..."

"Of course not," Mark agreed, grabbing a handkerchief and smoothing away her tears. "Because none of that is the woman she was. This is."
7
"Yeah. It really is. She was... an amazing woman."

"I'm sure she was," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "You're going to have to tell me all about her some time, okay, Jessica?"

Leaning into him, Jess continued flipping through the photo album, appreciating his presence and not really absorbing the images she was seeing. She almost passed over the picture before its significance sunk in.

"Wh-- No, that's impossible!" Mark protested, grabbing the folder on the coffee table and retrieving the picture inside.

"It's Christian Harrison." Jess stared wide-eyed at the picture labeled 'dad, 1945'.

"You?" Mark breathed, regarding her as though he was only really seeing her for the first time. "Unbelievable..."

"Me?" Jess repeated blankly, frowning and shaking her head. "Oh, no, Mark... It... it couldn't... I can't..." Unaccountably frightened, she jumped to her feet, wanting nothing more than to flee a situation that was suddenly even more surreal and imposing than usual.

"Jessica," Mark said, rising and catching her arm gently. "You really didn't know?"

"Bloody hell, you think if I had I'd have kept it from you of all people?" she demanded, backing away until she hit the living room wall. Startled, she recoiled from the wall with a whimper.

"Don't be afraid," Mark whispered, gathering her into his arms. "Don't be afraid. No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them," he promised.

"I'm sorry," Jess said, hanging on to him as much for support as for comfort. "I just... It can't be me, Mark! I'm nothing special..."

"You still don't see it, do you?" he murmured, half to himself, brushing the hair out of her face. "It's going to be okay, Jessica. I promise."

"I'm scared," she admitted. "I don't know if I have it in me to do what you and Mel do..."

"You'll learn. I'll help you to. Don't be afraid," he soothed. Grinning crookedly, he added, "Looks like Cole and I were right about you after all..."

"When he and Mel were in London, we got to talking about you. We both knew that you were something special."

"I'll bet not." He gave her a sympathetic look. "But you ARE," he said firmly, steering her to the couch. "I want you to sit here while I make you a cup of tea. We'll put a shot of brandy in it--"

"Can you hold the tea?" Jess asked hopefully. "I could use a stiff drink. Or three."

By the time he returned from the kitchen with two old fashioned glasses and a bottle of scotch, Jess was sorting through the contents of the box, casting articles aside with the kind of deliberation that told him that she was looking for something very specific. When she held up a slightly off-center metal triangle, Mark was surprised that he had not thought to look for it first. Christian Harrison had, after all, been one of the Keyholders...

Shaking his head, Mark sat down next to her and poured two double shots of scotch, handing one to Jess as she wordlessly examined the artifact. He could feel disbelief and fear vying with one another as she struggled to come to terms with her heritage. He remained silent, not interfering but watching her closely. When she looked up at him, he smiled at her obvious sense of determination.

"How many Keys are there, anyway?" Jess asked, handing it to him and retrieving one of the glasses.

"I don't know. And they aren't all actual vault-keys, either," he told her, examining it thoughtfully.

She was alternating between intense curiosity, even stronger fear, and bouts of emotional numbness, all in rapid spurts. The net effect was one of complete exhaustion and an overpowering desire to do nothing more than curl up in a dark room and take a long nap.

Mark shook his head, taking a long pull from his glass. "It's a translation problem. Ja'a' ení... It's closer to 'clue' than 'key'. Only a select few actually open anything. The rest are keys to... hidden knowledge."

"Well, legend says that they were all cut from a single metal plate, already engraved, that when you lay them all together in the right configuration, they tell you all there is to know about the location of the weapon's components, how to assemble it..."

"That one's been pretty much lost in the past few thousand years, but the ancient teachings are pretty clear on the fact that they had a damned good reason for doing it that way. Individually, each Key holds a piece of advice for the Guardian line that carries it or for any Guardian's Guardian who might come across it. It's even rumored that members of the Guardian lines are drawn to the Keys, that they can feel their pull."

"That the real reason I keep ending up around Porters, is it?" Jess gave a mirthless laugh, half-draining her glass.

He grinned, shrugging helplessly and draining his glass. "Two years of searching you out, woman, and you've been right under my nose the whole time," he said, shaking his head and refilling his glass. "You going to make the rest of my job this difficult?" he demanded with mock severity.

"The thought had occurred to me," she admitted with a shrug, adding more scotch to own glass. "God, Mark, we keep this up, we're both going to be completely gone by the time Kate gets home."

"So be it," Mark replied gravely, raising his glass in toast. "Here's to the perversity of Fate," he intoned.

"You can say that again," Jess chuckled, clinking her glass against his and taking another sip. "So, can you read it?" she asked.

He shrugged and settled back on the couch, placing his glass on the arm of the chair as he scrutinized the glyphs. He was so intent on trying to string together the few words he did understand into a coherent whole that he was only peripherally aware of a slight pressure against his side and chest until it was gone. He looked up and saw Jess pouring herself another drink before leaning against him again.

Smiling faintly, he drained his glass, plucking hers out of her hand as soon as he sensed that she was asleep. She stirred in her sleep, mumbling a protest and snuggling closer.

"Huh. I should have known you'd be an affectionate drunk," he murmured, draining her glass as well.

He glanced at the bottle on the table, startled to see how much they had gone through in less than an hour. Shrugging to himself, he put the other empty glass on the end-table as well and returned his attention to trying to translate the writings.

She frowned when neither answered in spite of the fact that she could sense both life-forces nearby. Frowning faintly, she quietly entered the living room, grinning at the sight before her.

Mark was sitting on the couch, sleeping with his chin resting on the top of Jess' head and his arms around her waist, something clutched loosely in one hand. Jess was asleep as well, curled up against him, half in his lap and with one leg draped over both of his.

Kate shook her head faintly as she noticed the half-empty bottle on the end-table, but her attention quickly turned to the object in her father's hand. It was faintly familiar, but by description only.

She crept forward silently, not wanting to wake either of them up, and plucked the Key from her father's grasp. He came awake immediately, his eyes wide and alert until he saw Kate. His eyes widened again as he became aware of the young woman sprawled on top of him. Kate had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at her father's expression, a combination of embarrassment and guilt.

She schooled herself quickly and sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Looks as if I missed something," she noted quietly, not wanting to wake Jess.

"You did," Mark agreed quietly, shifting Jess into a more prone position so that he could sit up straighter. With a mumbled protest, the sleeping woman wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his stomach. Ignoring Kate's smirk, Mark explained, "We found Harrison's granddaughter."

Kate's smirk gave way to a grin. "That's great! Have you talked to her? Are you going to see her?"

"I've already seen her, Kitten, and if you don't keep it down, you're going to wake her up."

"Sorry. What, is she in the bedroom..." Kate trailed off, frowning at the awareness that they were the only three life-forces in the apartment. "JESS?" she whispered, staring incredulously at her friend. "You sure, Dads?"

Mark pointed to the photo-album on the coffee table. "Belonged to Jess' mom. The page is marked. Spot-on match to the picture of Harrison that Lucy found."

Kate compared the two picture, at a loss for words. Shaking her head, she picked up the bottle on the end table and took a swig.

"Bloody hell," she said once she recovered from the harsh bite. There was not much else TO say.

"The good news is that when Harrison died, Jess' mother got put up for adoption. They're going to have a hard time connecting Christian Harrison to Mary Spence Brown. Or to Jessica..."

Kate nodded faintly, refilling the glass and sipping at it. "Jess didn't take it too well, I guess?"

"It's a lot to absorb," he pointed out. "She'll be fine, though. She's exceptional, strong."

"I don't see how I can do anything else." Mark sighed, absently playing his fingertips through Jess' hair the way a man might pet a favorite cat. "I am growing to HATE this life, Kitten."

"I know, dads," Kate murmured, not commenting on his action. She doubted he was even consciously aware of what he had done. She also was not sure if it was any of her business. She stared down at the Key in her hands instead. "What's it say?"

"I don't know if I'd do that," Kate said quietly. "Mel says he's been really distracted lately, up to his elbows in his work all day and night..."

"Some of it. Hva'an is... 'fire', uh... bad, dangerous fire instead of the good kind. Tellya is 'light'. Uh... 'children' is there near the bottom." He shook his head. "Nothing coherent yet, but I'll get it."

"I know you will," Kate said, smiling at him. "Maybe we should put Jess to bed? She'll get a crick in her neck sleeping like that."

"Yeah, probably," Mark agreed, nodding and gingerly sliding out from under her, scooping her up and cradling her against his chest. "Turn down the bed, will you?"

Jess woke with a pounding headache and the kind of disorientation that only accompanied waking up in a place other than the one where she had fallen asleep. It did not take her long to recognize the dark room as her own bedroom above the Flames, but she could not remember how she had gotten there. Probably passed out drunk at the time, judging by the strength of her hangover. She groaned softly as she remembered why she had gotten drunk in the first place.

She sighed and slowly sat up, relieved that her headache did not grow any worse as a result. She rose stiffly and left the bedroom in search of a few aspirins, stopping in the hall as she became aware of a quiet conversation in the living room. Two male voices and a female one. Curious, she walked into the living room, smoothing her clothes.

"Jessica," Mark greeted her, rising. He closed the distance between them and rested one hand against her forehead.

She sighed softly as she felt warm, soothing energy flowing into her head, washing away the headache. "Thank you," she whispered.

Mark nodded, but did not have his usual smile for her. "You're dehydrated. Get yourself some water, then we need to talk."

"Everything okay?" she asked as it occurred to her that Mark was having a whispered conversation with a lawyer, something that could not possibly bode well.

"Not to our side," he murmured, shaking his head. "But something's going on with Zin's people."

Jess gave a shaky nod and walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water and draining it.

"You doing okay?" Kate asked quietly, joining her in the kitchen. "Dad says you were a little surprised to run across a picture of Christian Harrison in YOUR family album."

"That's one way of putting it." Jess shook her head. "What's going on anyway?" she asked, jerking her head towards the living room where Mark and Jay were whispering rapidly.

"You ever heard that Chinese curse? May you live in interesting times?" Kate asked. At Jess' nod, she said, "Things just got interesting."

"A couple things." Kate leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Interpol took my Aunt into custody this morning. Within an hour of THAT, two of Zin Industries' regional managers were dead."

"He didn't." She shook her head. "THAT would be the interesting part, Jess. Jay was already here. He came here tonight to tell Dad about Marguerite and some law enforcement agents. He didn't know about the other deaths, but Dad thinks that those are the really significant ones."

"A member of MI-5 here in London and a CIA agent in Afghanistan. There was an attempt on an Interpol agent in Chicago, too, but they don't know if she's going to make it yet."

"According to Mel, some of our uninvited guests think it's a turf war. I don't know where the agents fit in, but my instinct tells me that they MUST."

Jess nodded faintly, unable to argue with Kate's gut reaction. "So, what do we do?"

"YOU are going with Jay. You're a Guardian, Kate, and we need those alive. Jessica, you should go with her."

"Damn it, Jessica!" Mark snapped. "This is not a game. If what I think is going on really IS, they will kill every Guardian they can find."

"Yeah, but there are only three people in the world who know that I qualify," Jess pointed out. "I'm safer here than you are and you know it."

"Hey, not my fault you've always been drawn to stubborn women." Kate shrugged helplessly. "I'd best go pack."

"She hasn't seen Cole for a few hours. He went off with some informant of his. He was fine then..."

"God, Jessica, I hope not..." he muttered, pulling open a drawer and reaching underneath it. He pulled off an envelope and tossed it to Jay. "This should get you as far as Paris. I'll have more waiting for you when you get there."

"Okay, I'm packed," Kate announced, returning to the living room with a duffle-bag in hand. "So you want to tell us what's going on now?" she asked Mark.

Mark hesitated. "We think this Lana woman is getting close to Zin. The Agents were probably too close to the truth or too dangerous." He sighed. "Marguerite's capture probably only aggravated matters. She knows too much about them, so they're tying up lose ends. We don't think they were particularly powerful, but the two dead Lieutenants worked almost as closely with her as Haag did."

He sighed deeply and continued, "If Lana really is close to Zin, she Guardians WILL be next. We're all that's left standing between Zin and his plans. Jay, I don't want you trusting ANYONE. And you, Kitten..." He closed the distance between them in two steps and pulled her into a bear-hug. "You trust every sense the gods ever gave you."

Kate clung to him, burying her face in his shoulders and mumbling a promise that she would do as he asked.

"Whatever ever else happens, Kitten, never doubt that I love you," he whispered, holding her for a few more moments before letting her go. "You two stay safe."

"Don't worry, Mark. I'll take good care of her," Jay promised, picking up her bag. "Jessica, you sure you don't want to come, too? Might be safest..."

"No." She shook her head firmly, pulling Kate into a hug. "You stay safe, Kate."

Jess and Mark watched the two depart, standing in tense silence for several more minutes after the last footsteps were no longer audible in the stairwell. It was that oppressive silence that really impressed the gravity of the situation on Jess. She could not believe that, street-smart as she was, she had chosen this particular moment to dig her heels in and stand her ground. No wonder the Guardian lines were dying off left and right...

"What now?" she asked when she could not stand the silence or her own reflections any longer.

Catching her arm, he pulled her down the hall to the study that had been converted to serve as a bedroom for him. He began running both hands over the wall, his expression searching until he found what he was looking for.

To Jess, it looked like he had punched the wall, except for the fact that his hand sunk in past his wrist. From the carefully-constructed niche hidden behind nothing but two layers of wallpaper, he produced a 9mm and two clips.

"Now... I show you how to use one of these," Mark said, pressing the handgun into her shaking hands.

"I don't understand, Nestov," Cole complained to the Dessarian, shaking his head. "If Lana is behind these killings as you say, why has she not also targeted Haag?"

"Because, man, Haag is under Zin's protection. She's not going to lay a hand on the man until she gets the okay from His Holiness." He rolled his eyes in disgust. "He wasn't particularly fond of either of the guys she killed. She takes out a favorite of Zin and the other Lieutenants are going to stop cooperating with her and start cooperating with each other. At least long enough to take her out of the picture. She may be crazy, Cole, but she's not stupid, either."

"Lana knows exactly what she's doing, and you can bet that those two assassinations were NOT random. She was making an example of two pretty ambivalent members of Zin's inner circle and cementing her own place in it at the same time. That she can get away with a lot more easily than she can get away with killing Haag on general principle, for now. But she gets Zin out of that Vault and she becomes unstoppable."

Nestov shrugged. "I'd say she has to be. It's too damned quiet. Or, was until two Lieutenants showed up dead. Besides, don't you think the timing's just a little too convenient?"

Cole frowned faintly, considering. "She drugged us when she did for a reason. She knows that tactic will never work again, so she must have needed to get us out of the way for a few days."

He nodded. "Dovetails with your little side-trip to London, too. And there's been some other stuff going on inside the organization," he added, dropping his voice. "You ever heard of Neko? Vardian?"

Cole closed his eyes, thinking. "Two consecutive life-terms on Sar-Top for unethical medical experimentation?"

"That's the one." Nestov nodded. "He's one of the few people here that Lana really trusts. So what does she do? She sends the man to London... That can NOT be a coincidence. Especially not since he's been teaching the Gospel according to Lana and distributing translations of the Book of Vartan. It's practically required reading these days if you want to stay in her good graces. And let me tell you, as far as company mission statements go, this one is just freaky..."

He nodded faintly. "Neko's presence in London serves many purposes. He can assist Lana in spreading the Vartan Cult and he can keep an eye on Haag and Mel's father."

"And he can act as a go-between who won't raise too much unwanted attention," Nestov added. "Wouldn't surprise me if he's stealing followers from right under Haag's nose."

"Jerallan," Cole murmured, recalling the recording that Vic had recently given him.

"Please focus, Nestov," Cole suggested, shaking his head. "Haag sent her husband to kill Lana. Lana sent him back to kill Haag, but Haag killed him first."

"And Neko ends up with Jerallan in his employ?" Nestov shook his head. "Loyalty to Zin really DOES have its rewards, doesn't it?"

"Sorry, man. Look, I know something's going on and I know it's not good. Beyond that, I don't have much to give you right now beyond the fact that Ashta and Hayan are meeting with a few local crime lords at the Hilton tonight in one of the penthouses. Reservation's under the name Wilson."

He nodded faintly. "Thank you, Nestov. Let me know if you find out anything else about Lana."

"You mean other than the fact that she's finally lost what little sanity she has left?"

"Nestov, PLEASE!" Cole closed his eyes. "I must keep Mel safe from her," he whispered.

Nestov was immediately repentant. "Okay. I'll see what I can dig up. Take it easy, man. Try not to worry so much."

"How much longer are you going to have to keep her on this damned ventilator?" Vic asked the orderly as he changed Gabe's IV.

Vic sighed deeply. "Okay..." When the orderly was gone and the door closed, he returned his full attention to the unconscious woman. "This is insane. What the hell was I thinking dragging you into this, Gabe?"

Only the steady beating of the heart-monitor answered that question. Vic bowed his head and began praying.

"I... I don't know." He shook his head hopelessly. "Hell, maybe the bullet was meant for me."

"A few hours ago, right before Agent Hess got shot. Dad sent Kate into hiding. He's pretty antsy."

"But SHE didn't!" he half-shouted. "And I had the audacity to keep it from her..."

"Think you can stand between us and the security camera for a minute?" Mel asked.

"Uh... Okay." Not sure what had prompted the request, Vic rose and moved between the camera and its line of sight to Gabe and Mel. "What are you doing?" he asked when she started moving her hands back and forth over Gabe's stomach, not quite touching it. A subtle glow spilled out from underneath her hands.

"Something Cole taught me," she explained, never taking her attention from the woman who lay near death because she had done the right thing. "We... Cirronians can sense illness and injuries." She paused, closing her eyes. "There it is. The bullet nicked a blood vessel."

"What?" he demanded. "Come on, Mel. Gabe has sticking her neck out big time for us."

"What are you going to tell a doctor, Vic? That a hybrid found the problem by analyzing variations in energy signatures?"

"I can fix the worst of it," Mel told him, slipping her hands under the hospital gown.

For five horrifying seconds, the monitor beeped rapidly and erratically, but before Vic could react, Gabe's heartbeat had returned to normal.

"I need to go now," Mel murmured, sticking one bloodied hand into her pocket and rubbing it clean against the fabric. "Maybe you should come, too. You can get a drink, rest..."

"Fat lot of good they'll be against the fugitives." He shook his head. "Mel, I know you're just trying to help, but right now I don't want or need it."

Mel sighed at the finality in his tone. "You have my number if you change your mind. Try to at least get some rest."

"Good night, Mel," Vic murmured, hugging her close. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Just keep yourself safe," she suggested, hugging him tightly. Smiling weakly at him, she turned to leave.

"Find out who did this to her. Make sure the bastard ends up on Sar-Top where he belongs."

The human Detective closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of Gabe's heart-monitor. The heartbeat was steadier, stronger, and her blood pressure was already returning to a more normal range.

"You know what the scary part is, Gabe?" he murmured. "Something tells me that all of this is only the beginning..."

RavenKat

Episode 21 - Shattered, Part I

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