"I realize that you were right about that. Killing her was a waste of time. Calla is still dead, and I'm still a failure. You and the baby deserve more."
She shook her head, wondering how he could be so stupid. He never listened to her, not when she told him he was wrong, and not when she told him she wanted a partner. Why couldn't she communicate with this man?
"I've programmed the ship to take to you Logan," Jess continued. "You'll be there in less than three weeks. He'll be expecting you. I'm staying here on the station. I've got half of our money, and I'm ready to apply for my pilot's license. You don't have to worry about me any more."
His hand in the image reached toward her, almost as if he were trying to touch her through the screen.
She reached one arm up toward him, then pulled it back, feeling foolish. He was just reaching out to end the recording…
But instead of flicking off, he pulled his hand back and looked out once more.
"I know it's weak of me to even tell you this, but there's a part of me that isn't ready to give up hope. If you want to get in touch with me, I've got a room at the Pilot's Hostel in Quadrant Four. I'll be here until I get word that your ship has left."
He reached out again, and this time the image disappeared. The vid screen rolled silently back down into the control panel, leaving Bethany to stare thoughtfully at the space it had occupied.
She stood up and stretched. How could he misunderstand like this? she asked herself again. Hadn't they been through enough? She sighed and walked slowly back to their room. She needed to take a shower and get dressed. Goddess only knew how long it would take her to find this Pilot's Hostel place…
Chapter Eighteen
Jess sat in the bar, drinking a rich, dark glass of beer. It was good stuff, some of the best he'd ever tasted. Every few moments he would check his message box on the counter-top terminal. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. Every time it showed up blank he was filled with both relief and fear.
Relief that the ship hadn't left the station yet; fear because she hadn't tried to contact him.
What was she thinking? When would she be out of his life for good? Would he ever be able to forgive himself for losing her? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice it when someone slid into the seat next to him.
"Can you please bring me a glass of water?" a familiar voice asked the bartender, and for a moment he thought he was dreaming. He turned to look at her, trying to keep the longing he felt out of his face. He'd pressured her too much already, the last thing she needed from him was more force. She had to make her own decisions.
"How are you doing?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual. As if his entire life didn't rest on her answer.
"Not too good, Jess," she said softly. She looked at him, those beautiful cat eyes that he'd loved from the first minute he'd seen them gazing deeply into his own face. "I woke up this morning and found myself all alone. Now, instead of eating breakfast I had to come hunt you down. Why are you doing this to us?"
He opened his mouth, then closed. What was he supposed to say?
"I was pretty angry when I first got your message," she said softly. The bartender brought a glass of water over and she took it, murmuring, "Thanks."
He waited as she drank deeply. She put the glass down, the lightly traced the rim with one finger.
"But I realized something," she continued. "Being angry with you wasn't the solution. I love you for who you are, Jess."
His heart froze.
"And I guess that means loving you even when you do things I can't understand."
"What are you saying?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Oh, Jess," she said, turning to him. "I really don't get why you're doing this to yourself. How many times have I told you I love you? How many times have I made it clear I want you for my partner?"
"You've also made it very clear you don't need me," he said, shaking his head.
"Of course I don't need you," she replied. "I'm a grown woman. I'm capable of living without you. I'm not a child. But that doesn't mean I don't want you, Jess. You're my man, we're a family now. How could I ever be happy without you? I love you."
She leaned forward, kissing him on the mouth. He didn't respond, still trying to process what she was telling him. She really did want to be with him.
She pulled back, sliding off the barstool and standing beside him.
"Let's get back to our ship and get out of this place," she said, holding out one hand to him. He nodded slowly, and took it.
"That sounds like a good idea to me," he replied. "Where are we going? To Logan?"
"We'll see," she said, a strange little grin playing across her face. "I think it's my turn to pick where we go. Some place warm, maybe. And definitely no Pilgrims or slaves."
"Yes m'am," he replied, smiling back at her. "I'm up for anything you want."
"Good," she replied, laughing and shaking her head. "Brace yourself, Jess. I'm in a strange mood, so things could get interesting. Let's see what kind of future we can find for ourselves, hmm?"
Epilogue
Logan stood alone on his balcony.
He could see his entire city from here, the shining capital that his family had ruled for centuries. Once his father had stood here too, telling his young son stories of the star system that would one day be his to rule. He had always imagined doing the same with his own son, Soren.
Instead he had spent five years as a slave, less than a man.
For all that, his return to power had been almost laughably easy. His people had rallied to him upon his return, turning on the revolutionaries and slaughtering them as Logan strode through the city toward his palace. Millions had followed him, singing songs and throwing flowers in his path. Several times he had been forced to stop. They all wanted to touch him, to hear his voice and remember the good times.
Nobody could have guess how bad life would get once revolutionaries had crept into his palace wearing gas masks five years ago. Every electronic security system had been subverted, and loyal guardsmen were slaughtered as they lay unconscious. A reign of terror had followed and millions suffered.
Many of the conspirators were already dead. Thousands more waiting in the prisons below the castle, damp, dark pits his earliest forefathers had carved out of the living rock to encase their enemies. Now his men were questioning those prisoners, demanding answers and ripping the truth from the very fabric of their brains.
So far no one had been able to give him the information he sought. Somewhere, out in the city or in the hills beyond, his son still lived.