Inherited War 3: Retaliation by Eric McMeins Page A

me beating her, knocking her unconscious, and dragging her to the hanger. There is nothing I can do. Everytime I close my eyes, I see it like it’s happening again. It sickens me and yet some part of me thrills in it, revels almost. That is what sickens me the most, the part of me that likes it. My friend Eric, he wants to marry the mother of his kids. He wants me to do it for him. I smile and say yes all the while wondering what I can do to ruin his moment. I thought I understood the others plan, but I begin to hate even my own people. He is here, now, watching this. I can feel him, gloating. I will have the last laugh, though. I don’t know who you are but I know one thing, I killed myself before and I can do it again. One slip, one misstep, a moment of control is all I need to end it forever. It is laughing at me, says it doesn’t make mistakes. Everything makes mistakes.
     
    Cole awoke to a feeling he had not had in a long time. His head was aching and someone was driving nails into his eyes. That’s what it felt like anyways. Sky was pushed up firmly to his back and shifted when he moved. Cole was attempting to get his mind in order and sit up when the nausea hit. His stomach gurgled and his mouth got ready for what was coming. Frantically he tried to remember what had happened and for that matter, why his nanites were not working. His body broke out in a cold sweat as he lay there fighting the vomit he felt coming.
    It hit him then, he had turned his nanites off. Well he had turned them off to the affects of alcohol anyways and had not turned them back on. He shoved the nausea, headache, and sour stomach aside and concentrated on his internal computer. It took only a second to reset the nanites and feel the initial effects of them hard at work. Like jumping in a cool pool in the summer, the relief of the pain blocking nanites spread out behind his eyes. His gag reflex and nausea faded, and he began to receive reports from his nanites. Mild dehydration, dead brain cells, and liver and kidneys working overtime to filter his blood. It had been a while since he had drank that much alcohol. Water was the first thing he needed, then a shower.
    Moving slow so as to not wake Sky, he moved to the small kitchen area, grabbed a glass from a cabinet, and filled it with water. He raised the glass to his lips for a big drink and stopped, cold. A shiver ran through his body and his suddenly nerveless fingers dropped the glass of water. The glass bounced and sprayed its contents over the floor, his feet, and legs. This wasn’t his room, was the first thought in his head. With his mind clearing from the after effects of a bad hangover, Cole was thinking clearly.
    He could feel the soft vibrations of a ship under power in space. Then the last straw dropped. Sky wasn’t with him anymore—he had sent her away.
    “Computer, turn on the lights,” Cole ordered the ships AI, whichever one it was. The lights flashed on in an instant. Whichever AI it was, it wasn’t Hal. Hal had standing orders to not monitor him in his room. A soft groan escaped the sole occupant of the bed. Cole saw a flash of blonde hair as Anastacia rolled on her back and half sat up on the bed.
    The blood drained from Cole’s face. What had he done? He felt more himself at this moment than at any time the past few days. He knew it was on purpose. Whatever he was fighting in his own mind had wanted him to be totally here to experience this moment. Clear headed and fully aware of his betrayal of Sky, the only women he loved.
    “Oh, shit,” he whispered softly as Anastacia got her arms behind her and levered herself completely up. The sheet covering her fell away and exposed her naked torso. She blinked her eyes and slowly shook her head.
    “Potent stuff,” she said around a mouth that felt full of cotton. Cole was paralyzed. He stared at the Russian Astronaut as she closed her eyes and turned her nanites back on.
    “Handy little buggers, that’s for sure.”