Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1) by Jacqueline Rhoades Page A

face changed her mind. It was best not to provoke an angry bear or an angry Viking, either.
    For the first five minutes, he walked and she trotted beside him in an attempt to keep up.
    Finally spying one of the little hovercraft zipping along the roadway nearby, Roark put two fingers of his free hand to his lips and blasted a whistle. The driver brought the car to a halt and exited when his Commander motioned with his thumb. Mira was lifted over the low door and into the seat. Why waste time opening a door?
    “Thank you,” she said a little breathlessly and when she received only a curt nod in response, “Are you angry with me?”
    “No.”
    “All righty then,” she said since she didn’t know what else to say. She folded her hands in her lap as they skimmed over the ground. Two minutes later they were walking into the hospital.
    The furious looking Harm met them at the door. “He’s in there.”
    Mira saw a tall and lanky officer through the glass surrounding the waiting area and assumed it was Suto. A Godan like Roark, though not nearly so handsome, the man was sweating profusely. On seeing Roark, the Field Marshal raised his finger in the air and began to walk toward the door.
    Mira pointed, too, toward a hallway at the back. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll wait back there. Bloodshed isn’t my thing.”
    At Roark’s nod, she winked at Harm, and fled. It wasn’t far enough. She clearly heard a thump and grunt and quickly moved farther away. Wards, huge rooms with dozens of warriors filling the beds lining either side, opened from wide double doors along the hallway. She glanced through the first set of doors and saw a familiar face. It was the humorless, but handsome young officer from class.
    He caught her eye and nodded in recognition. She had no choice but to stop and say hello and she struggled to remember the young officer’s name.
    “Hey Lege, good taste,” a soldier called.
    This was followed by a grunt as the men in the bed next to him punched the soldier’s wounded arm. This was followed by a warning hiss of which Mira only recognized one word, Commander.
    She closed her eyes and sighed. At least the exchange reminded Mira of her student’s rank.
    “Legion Officer Petrark, how are you feeling?”
    His arm was bent and bandaged from wrist to shoulder. “Better than I did a few hours ago, thank you, ma’am.”
    “How did it happen? I thought you had a clerical position. Records, communiqués with Headquarters, that sort of thing.”
    “Yes, ma’am, CST, Communication and Security Technologies, but the First came to see me with the transfer I requested months ago.” His shoulders straightened and his chest puffed out. “He said he was looking for men of intelligence and integrity to lead his troops. He asked if I would do him the honor of serving under his command. Can you imagine it? A warrior of his stature asking if I would do him the honor. It was what I always wanted and now that I’m here, I understand what he meant.” He looked over the men surrounding him. “I’m honored to have them serving under me.”
    “Lege took a hell of a hit in the arm, ma’am. They had him in the Knitter for close to an hour. He was right out front with us and took it just like us. Wouldn’t let them put him in the officers’ ward. No sir, he’s sticking with us.”
    “The Knitter?” She’d heard the word before, but couldn’t remember where.
    “Yes, ma’am,” the Legion Officer explained, “It’s a device designed to repair bone and tissue. It hurts like a son of a...um, quite a bit, but my men tell me that will pass in a week or two.”
    “Going to leave a hell of a scar,” someone called and the others laughed.
    “Ah, I see. Does this mean you’ll be getting a...” Mira stopped, remembering what Roark had said about officers and tattoos.
    “A blood marking? Yes, ma’am, I am.”
    “He’s got to, doesn’t he, ma’am. He’s one of us now.”
    “He is indeed,” Mira