Hoards of EDF staff spilled from the Defense Council chamber: Council members, the President and his aides, security guards, and sundry other personnel. An emergency session had been called regarding the Commander's martial law edict. St. Cyr had just finished an impassioned speech in support of his actions. Defending himself vigorously, he told the Council that he felt Yamato was threatening global and solar system security. A heated debate followed for several hours, with many voicing clear opposition. But St. Cyr had been a consummate diplomat over the past two decades. With the help of his supporters, and his promise that it would be a very temporary measure, the opposition was overruled.

St. Cyr headed back to his office, and Yuki was among those following. She waited for a space to clear, then slowly worked her way forward until she flanked the commander on his left. "Sir, if I may…" she began.

Suddenly aware of her presence, St. Cyr turned to her with an amiable expression. He seemed pleased about something. "What is it, Yuki?"

"What do you think Kodai knows?" she asked, wrapping her arms tightly around her clipboard to control her nervousness. "You seem very concerned that he'll take Yamato somewhere it shouldn't be."

St. Cyr glanced at her in surprise, then concentrated his attention ahead as they traveled down the long corridor. "Well, Yuki, as you know, I've spent a lot of time among the colonies. My work involved more than just peacekeeping." His voice rippled with the pride of a tradesman knowledgeable in his craft. "The colonies are a vital well of resources, information, what have you. Disruptions in the commercial infrastructure can have dire effects. It's even more debilitating during times of war. Frankly, I'm concerned that Yamato will interfere with some long term plans, plans that are meant to help Earth rebuild and be strong."

"I think I understand," she responded. Your answer couldn't have been more vague than if you'd described your favorite recipe. But she had to do more to gain his trust. The past few weeks of working with St. Cyr had been agonizingly routine. She was there to spy, not wile away the time with mundane tasks. Yuki's stomach tightened as an idea came to her, one that caused a spurt of guilt to propel through her heart like a torpedo. The blast chipped further away at her shame filled conscience. "Commander, may I make a suggestion?"

St. Cyr nodded. "By all means!"

"You'd do well to enlist the help of the commercial freighters. If they're carrying, or protecting something important, Kodai will be drawn to them. That's where you'll find Yamato. But make it worth their while, because it won't be easy for them."

"Yuki!" St. Cyr exclaimed, cupping her elbow as they reached the office to guide her through the door. "That's an excellent idea." He strode to his desk, and tapped a few keys as he gazed down at his monitor.

Yuki assumed their conversation was over, and sat in her chair. She really needed some work to distract her just then. But the commander was heading over to her station. He plucked the clipboard from her hand and set it down on the desk.

"Come with me. I'm taking you to lunch." He beamed at her gratefully.

Yuki stared up at him, inwardly frightened. Is this what being a double agent means, making it all up as you go along? She forced herself to meet his eyes squarely, two dark liquid orbs that brimmed with affection, presumably for her. His expression was so sincere that she was able to relax somewhat, and proffer a timid smile.

"I want all the advice from you I can get. We can discuss a way to bring Kodai back that's safe for all involved."

Yuki nodded, and widened her smile. "As long as it's a working lunch, Commander. Otherwise people are going to think you're a bad influence on me!"

St. Cyr's eyes crinkled with delight as he laughed, and under other, more benign circumstances, Yuki would have found comfort in its dulcet sound. But now, her mind raced. She had to brainstorm how to anticipate her husband's next move, and decide how much to share with St. Cyr. Too little and she would appear evasive. Too much, and Kodai's life would be at risk. Yuki desperately wished she could talk to Daijiro, but of course there was no time. Standing up, she tossed back her hair, and slipped an arm through the Commander's as they left the office. Yuki was able to take some pleasure in his obvious excitement at her forwardness. If nothing else, she thought, he trusts that I'm a woman. At least I have the power of my charms.

They ate in on of the VIP officer's lounges, at a sunlit table overlooking the southern part of the city. Lunch had become Yuki's sole meal of the day, but the food still tasted like cardboard to her. Ever since Kodai left on Yamato, parts of her had begun to shut down. She couldn't stop it. Yet the soldier aspect of her, instinctive, survival-minded, helped her maintain the front she needed to interact with St. Cyr. Yuki felt like a teenage girl on the outskirts of a clique that had extended only conditional acceptance. She was now part of the Commander's entourage, but she felt more like an uninvited guest. Though demanding, St. Cyr himself was always very polite, very attentive. Almost too attentive. At times, like during the meal they now shared, she felt smothered, especially when he would so obviously "accidentally" let his hand brush against hers. And that Qasar was always hovering around, staring at her unblinkingly. Like a helpless specimen under a microscope, she felt sure that every word she spoke, every expression she made was being closely watched and interpreted. The part she had to act, the hyper-vigilance she needed to maintain, soon began to exhaust her.

After work, she lapsed into the habit of taking a long, hot shower, as hot as she could bear. She started doing it before anything else, even eating. The pantry dwindled down, and turned as barren as a desert, so reluctant was she to expend any more effort after her undercover duties. Desperate not to be alone with her thoughts, she occasionally worked from home, meticulously documenting the conversations she had (especially with St. Cyr or his underlings), or getting a head start on the next day's work using remote computer access. She found her sleep varying from too much to too little. Though few and far between, she spent days off hibernating in bed, usually with a bottle of wine within reach. If she thought too much about her situation, or if Kodai's face appeared in a daydream, the crying jag could last for hours.

Yuki was finding much of the undercover work an uphill battle, despite Daijiro's assurance that the intelligence would be scarce in the beginning. While they ate, she had been asking St. Cyr questions about his childhood, and his answers were frustratingly vague. The events he described were dream-like, as if from a storybook. The clinical side of her did not trust his idealized version.

But even after only a few weeks, she had enough hardcopy to bring to Daijiro. He had cautioned her about sending him anything electronically, as it could be traced. So she had created a password-protected file in her computer, and printed out hardcopies either earlier in the morning or late in the evening, when St. Cyr was attending meetings or gatherings of one sort or another. One day, she found some open files in the computer on his desk. She knew he had been called away to another part of the Command Center on emergency business, so she took the opportunity to hurriedly copy the entire contents onto a disc. This, too, she would bring to Daijiro.

After work, Yuki made a live drop to inform Daijiro of her pending visit (one of the places was a run-down boutique maintained by an old wrinkled Chinese woman. Yuki had only to donate a piece of clothing with a message hidden inside.) At midnight, she arrived at his office, and placed the stack of documents and the disc onto his desk. She took a step back, standing numbly in the middle of the room, until Daijiro invited her to sit down. He made them both some tea, and inquired about her progress. When he learned about the disc, he immediately loaded the contents into his computer, and studied them on the monitor.

"I'm sorry, Yuki, but this is information we already have. But it's a good start," he hastily amended

upon seeing her crestfallen expression. "Are you aware of the propaganda campaign he's started?" Daijiro asked, referring to the memos, both official and unofficial, that were circulating among EDF personnel. A few of his Project Moccasin undercover agents had passed them on to him. They contained unflattering messages about Yamato's "rogue" crew, and would sometimes urge anyone with information to report it directly to St. Cyr.

Yuki nodded. "I was the one he dictated them to."

"I guessed as much, but I wasn't entirely sure. Yuki, I'm sure he's using you in part to gauge your

reaction. If he believes you have any direct contact with Kodai, it's only going to make things more difficult."

"I know," Yuki said softly. "He may not trust me completely, but I'm positive he believes I'll do anything to get Kodai back." Yuki told him about her lunch with him.

Daijiro's face brightened as he listened. "Yuki, that's outstanding! Believe me, anything that points to his motives or strategies is a tremendous help. That was very inspired."

Her lower lip trembled, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It may be great double agent work, but at what price? What if my husband is injured because of things I say to the Commander over a stupid lunch?"

"But Yuki, you don't know for sure what Kodai will do. But I pass a lot of what you tell me onto certain other field agents. Kodai isn't immune from danger at this point, but he's being looked out after, I promise." He nodded more firmly when Yuki looked over at him.

She didn't bother to hide her tears, and set down her cup. "I'm a traitor," she whispered. Burying her face into her hands, she cried.

Daijiro left his seat, and kneeled in front of her chair. "Yuki, " he said, and placed a hand on her right shoulder, "you're not a traitor. Look at me, Yuki!"

When she drew away her hands, Daijiro cupped her face, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. His kindness nearly induced a fresh wave, but Yuki could tell he needed her to be strong.

"I'm counting on you," he continued, "to help me bring down a very diabolical man. When all is said and done, no one will question your part in this. I can tell how incredibly difficult this is for you, and believe me, if my uncle and I had any other choice, we wouldn't have come to you." His eyes narrowed, as if to thwart the grief that filled them. "If Todo hadn't been killed, we wouldn't even be here now. I would go in myself, Yuki, if I could, but he trained me to run the project. I need you to uncover what he found. As soon as that's done, I'm pulling you out."

Yuki nodded. She understood Daijiro's role better now, and realized that she played only one small part in a far reaching project that perhaps even predated her involvement with Yamato. And what of Daijiro? She guessed that this secret, underground MIS work was all he knew. Do you even have a life outside of all this? The thought of his dedication humbled her. Filled suddenly with renewed vigor, she grasped his hands in hers, and mustered a smile. "I understand," she said. "What should I do next?"

Daijiro gave her a disc of software to use. He explained she could use it to extract St. Cyr's password, or anyone else's, and gain access to any file she wanted. The program was untraceable, but the disc of course was not, and he emphasized that she should use it with caution.

It was several days before Yuki felt safe enough to try out the disc. But when she did, ensconced in the Commander's office one evening, the midnight hour far behind her, she discovered a wealth of data in his files. It would take time, and careful planning, to sift through all of the files. In the meantime, Yuki had another idea. Using different stations at work, as well as her computer at home, she began a search among the news service's archives. A piece of St. Cyr's childhood puzzle was missing, and she was determined to find it.

After the rendezvous with Yamato, The Flying Dutchman made its routine trip to Good Hope, and then returned to Earth. As usual, Daijiro tracked its arrival. Giddy feelings of anticipation tended to preoccupy him on the day of Lucia's return. The most exciting part was when she had entered the secret tunnel from the docks, and was heading for the underground compound. At that point, Daijiro gave up any pretense of working.

Lucia breezed through the door. Daijiro immediately guessed her mood from her sour expression. "I'm hungry," she muttered grumpily, and gave him a meager kiss on the cheek. "Can we get a table somewhere?"

They met up at a La Samaritaine, a twenty-four hour diner that served anything from spicy noodles to weary looking sushi. It had been Lucia's first choice of a rendezvous point before she stumbled onto the Hellcat a few blocks away. They requested a booth in the back, away from the windows. A thin, tired looking waitress took their order. She came back a moment later with two glasses of water.

Daijiro detected a sullen air about Lucia. After shrugging off her coat, she pulled out a cigar and lit it. Her frenzied puffing created a thick veil of smoke around them. Daijiro turned a shade irritable. Some of his inquiries about her latest trip had gone unanswered. And now she was smoking, knowing full well how much it bothered him.

"Lucia, put that thing out."

She responded by digging in her pocket for another one, which she promptly lit. Now she was alternately puffing on both, daring him to challenge her through a slit-eyed gaze.

Alarmed, Daijiro expressed his anxiety with a low hiss. "Knock it off, Lucy! It'll draw too much attention."

Rolling her eyes, Lucia looked around for an ashtray. Finding none, she plunked the half-smoked cigars into his water glass.

Daijiro expelled an exasperated sigh. "What's wrong with you? Stop acting like such a child!"

Lucia shot him an annoyed look. "Sometimes I feel like a child with that patronizing attitude of yours. Getting a little heady with power, now, are we? Sitting at your big fucking desk, telling your little cogs to do this, do that."

Lucia prattled on, clearly forgetting she was addressing her superior officer. Daijiro was about to shoot back a very un-superior like retort when he suddenly realized that their argument reminded him of something. Because he had to admit to himself, a foul mood such as this was rare for Lucia. Her words had a sharp bite occasionally, and she could be the queen of sarcastic barbs, but even when upset she was hardly, well, mean about it. Daijiro sensed her words fading away as his mind drifted back to a night about fourteen months into their partnership.

It was the evening before Lucia was scheduled to leave on the first transport run as captain of the Flying Dutchman. Even then she dressed the part, wearing the company's olive green uniform. She had officially gone undercover months before in order to recruit a reliable freighter crew, one that would not only be dependable, but also fiercely loyal to their captain. Lucia had had to weed out a few bad apples before settling on her current pick of twenty men and women. There was even a cover story for how she had acquired the ship: She had won it in a game of cards. Everything had been staged, even the card game. Should anyone voice suspicion, undercover agents would come forth as "witnesses". The Dutchman herself, of course, was built at a secret dock under the guidance of Commander Heikuro Todo. The goal was to land one of the lucrative contracts with D.E.I.C. According to some of the meager intelligence reports at the time, it was that company that was funneling illegal cargo. Using part of the extensive network of agents, Lucia nabbed a contract just two weeks earlier. All of the crew had cleared the background checks, and were ready for take-off.

After a long day of last minute planning, Lucia and Daijiro finished over dinner. They decided to end the night with a drink at the Hellcat. Months earlier, Daijiro had instructed Lucia to find a suitable meeting place to be used for the contact of Yamato's crew and other agents. Excited by the task, Lucia pestered him constantly with an array of choices. "I don't care; pick any place you like," he had said, and she settled on the Hellcat.

But it turned out to be an awkward time. Daijiro felt somewhat perplexed; Lucia had been acting cranky and sarcastic all evening. It was unlike her. They had spent months working very closely together as she was currently his top agent. They shared the same taste in jokes, and a penchant for long work days. He had thought they were getting along really well, but now, like a rabid dog, she was snapping at his every word.

Daijiro decided it was time to go. The weather had turned cold and rainy as of late, so he slipped into his coat. He pulled on his brown vintage newsboy cap, and his eyes disappeared into its shadow. Plunking down some tip money, he leaned over to Lucia's ear. She was staring straight ahead, still nursing her drink. "Report in when you can," Daijiro whispered. "See you in about a month."

Daijiro made it to the door, but not without a nagging feeling. His hand slowed, then stopped just short of the handle. Something’s bothering her. He thought it best to confront her, lest whatever was festering in her brain end up compromising the mission. Daijiro turned back around, only to find Lucia walking towards him. Before he could open his mouth to speak, she brushed roughly past and strode out the door. Groaning, Daijiro changed direction and followed her.

It had begun to rain. The street lay shrouded in a light, misty fog. Neon signs blinked slowly, sending out dashes of otherworldly color onto the pavement. Daijiro spotted Lucia heading across the street. He ran forward and blocked her path at the sidewalk. A street lamp shone brightly against their faces. "Don’t act it out, Lucia," he told her. "Just tell me what’s on your mind."

She looked up at him. Her lips parted to speak, but only silence emerged. Her hair was heavy and wet with rain. Strange, Daijiro thought, she’s never at a loss for words.

Lucia finally settled on some. "You probably wouldn’t want me, anyway." She pushed past him a second time, staggering away into the blustery night.

Daijiro’s eyes widened in surprise, and he stood still for a moment as if paralyzed. His mind worked over the meaning of her words, and soon he had turned around and was running after her. Possessing the longer legs, Daijiro caught up with her soon; she had not traveled far. He shouted her name and seized her arm. They stood frozen like that for a moment, as if in an odd game of tag. Then Lucia spun around and jumped into his arms; he caught her, and her legs wrapped about his waist. They kissed each other hungrily as the rain poured down like a final curtain call. The fury of the storm that broke around them was nothing like the burst of their need. Daijiro couldn't remember how long they had stood there; he only remembered the sweet taste of her mouth, and the way she had clung to him so urgently.

The rain soon drenched them to their very bones. Daijiro felt compelled to deposit Lucia back onto her feet. He was trembling, but not from the chilly air. Yet they still needed a place to escape the pelting wind. He looked around to see what was open, but he didn't want to return to the Hellcat. Lucia was pointing. Daijiro followed her arm to the bright pink sign of a motel down the street.

The storm shoved them through the door like a giant hand, leaving them gasping and laughing as they tumbled into the drab, space aversive lobby. Daijiro felt a mischievous thrill as he caught Lucia's eyes straying to the automated screen that displayed the choice of room. He quickly paid the credits due and grabbed the room key as it popped out of the slot. Shyly, he followed Lucia up the stairs to the third floor.

Streams of water were left in their wake as they searched for the room. The air of the low-ceilinged hallway felt warm and stuffy. They did not meet anyone on the way, which eased Daijiro's anxiety greatly. Number thirty-four: As soon as he unlocked the door, Lucia dove past him. The lights came on as they entered, displaying a room that was careworn and sparse, but clean. Lucia walked forward and stood in front of the bed, keeping her back to the door. Daijiro shrugged off his coat and watched, curious about what she was going to do.

She bent down to remove her boots and strip off her socks. Steady hands undid the clasps of her uniform. The shirt and pants came off, and she promptly tossed them aside. Underneath, she wore a tank top and panties; these items, too, landed in a pile on the floor. Then she simply stood there, hands loose by her sides.

Bewitched, Daijiro stared at her; she seemed so much smaller and vulnerable than the tough, swaggering agent he had shared drinks with only a short while ago. Like his job, his clothes now felt bulky and oppressive; he was starting to feel hot. Daijiro quickly undressed. Desire erupted in him as strongly as the storm outside had breached the sky; he fell forward onto his knees. Fervently, he kissed the skin of her back while his arms wrapped about her waist. Her skin tasted faintly of apples, and he drank in the cool droplets of rain as they cascaded from her hair.

Soft, low cries came from Lucia with every touch. Occasionally an arm would shift or her neck would arch as he fondled her. Daijiro switched to a sitting position on the bed. It felt only natural that he should cup her face and kiss her full on the lips, which he did with abandon. Her hands stroked his chest with the gentleness of rose petals. Lucia felt so fragile and tiny in his hands, but Daijiro soon discovered that she was very clear about what she wanted. She pushed him onto his back, and flung a leg across, straddling his face. It was like having a sodden, ripe piece of fruit all to himself, with its juices running amok over his mouth and chin as his tongue scooped up the sweet, pulpy bits. Before long, her lips and tongue found him there. His moans filled the room in spite of himself. They worked each other over like that for nearly an hour.

Then Lucia pulled away, positioning herself on hands and knees. She peered at Daijiro over her shoulder, and her voice was husky. "Do me this way, just for a little while!"

Daijiro sunk into her, and was astounded at how tight she was, how warm and smooth. But due to the height discrepancy, he kept slipping out. After the third time, he picked her up by the hips.
While her legs dangled in the air, he had his way with her. Then he flipped her over, pausing for a moment to gaze down. Her sex looked dark and lovely, nestled among the soft white skin of her thighs. The air between them was heavy with the musk scent of their bodies. Daijiro lowered himself down, moaning when her arms and legs coiled around him tightly, like a snake. He struggled vainly to escape with powerful counter thrusts. It seemed as though their bodies were melting into each other, so hot was the skin that met between their hips. Daijiro watched in awe as droplets of his sweat splashed onto her glistening chest. Lucia was sucking in air as fast as she could, and he knew she had finished when her hips surged upwards in a final, reckless assault. After holding him tightly for a few moments more, she loosened her grip, and relaxed against the bed.

Daijiro was still pushing relentlessly against her, and feared he would break her china-doll frame, but she seemed to like it. Her head lolled from side to side, and a drunken smile plastered her face. "Faster, Daijiro!" she whispered. "You can do it harder, as hard as you like!"

Her words induced a dizzying new feeling in him. He suddenly felt free, his inhibitions washed away as cleanly as a spring shower sweeps aside winter. And the cause of it had been under his nose all along, working alongside him, sharing in the classified, highly delicate nature of his job. Something strange had been unleashed, something that he hadn't known needed an escape. Lucia! What are you doing to me? The climax blindsided him when it arrived. He felt almost delirious, as though he had moved above and beyond the earthly plane. With a gusty exhalation of breath, Daijiro collapsed on the bed after he finished.

"Wow!" Lucia said, causing them both to lapse into breathless giggles. When the heaving of their chests had subsided, and the only sound in the room was that of the rain pounding against the window, she squeezed his hand so that he would look at her. "Daijiro," she began, "when I saw you for the first time, I thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen." Her lips curled into a small, almost sad smile. "Good night," she said, and turned over.

Within moments, she fell asleep. Daijiro covered her nakedness with part of the blanket, and settled down for what he later thought had been the best night's sleep of his life.

It would be his last good one for many years to come.

Daijiro's eyes sprung open in the pre-dawn dusk. A street lamp sent a sliver of bluish light across the bed. He checked the glowing face of his watch on the nightstand: five-twenty, a good forty minutes before they absolutely had to get up. The storm had passed, and the air in the room was still. With a yawn came the awareness of how intensely aroused he was. He glanced to his left. Lucia was still asleep, lying on her back. Daijiro snaked his hand underneath the covers and found her sex. She was cool, but still wet. Gently, he pulled off the blanket, and positioned himself between her legs. His hand quickly widened her, and he woke her up with the first of his thrusts. Lucia's eyes flew open and she gasped, but her hands immediately slipped around his waist. Daijiro rode her hard so that she would be sore, because he wanted her to remember him for days afterward. From her moans, it seemed like she came two, maybe three times. Daijiro struggled to make himself last, but after fifteen or so minutes he gave up. It was like discovering a beautiful, sub-tropic cave, so deep was he inside her when he came.

They were still feasting upon each other's mouths when the alarm on his watch went off.

Lucia nudged his chest with her hands. "We'll make better time if we shower together," she said. Her tone had hardened slightly, and Daijiro guessed she was mentally squaring herself for the

work ahead. He rolled himself away, and they went to the bathroom. Under the steamy hot water, they soaped each other up and down, and then finished with a long, generous rinse. They dressed, and shared one last kiss at the door before heading their separate ways, he to his underground lair, she to the Flying Dutchman and its maiden flight.

Back in his office a short while later, Daijiro sat at his desk and began pulling up reports. Then he stopped short as the realization hit him.

He was in love with her. And now she was gone.

The wait for her return was the longest month of his life. At times he cursed himself for falling so hard for her. He had crossed a professional boundary into dangerous personal territory. Then he would ask himself, what difference did it make? Lucia was a professionally trained MIS field agent. She could easily take care of herself, probably better than he could. But the needless worry consumed him anyway. Seeing her again was a moment he thought about constantly, almost to the point of distraction. Thank goodness his uncle hadn't seemed to notice.

When Lucia returned from the first commercial run, Daijiro was beside himself with relief. Not only had her cover worked, but she was safe. He knew they would have a lot of intelligence data to sift through, but that day he had taken an extra shower anyway, and his pocket held a bag of lollipops he knew she liked. He wondered if she had thought about that night as much as he.

Lucia casually tossed the captain's log disc onto his desk as she strolled into his office. One of her fingers traced a path along the edge of the desk. "So," she began, giving him a sidelong glance, "are we going to get a room?"

They rushed headlong over to the motel.

Daijiro shut the door behind them when they arrived, and threw his back against the wall, leaning against it in a swoon. "Oh, god…I'm so hard for you!" he moaned, then blushed. He felt as clumsy and silly as a lovesick teenager.

"Let me see!" Lucia dropped to her knees and quickly undid his pants. She chuckled. "Poor dear, you must be aching so!" Her fingers stroked him, and then he heard a muffled squeal of delight as she took him in her mouth. Somehow she managed to disrobe herself while attending to him. Daijiro quickly forgot about work, about the project, about everything except the feel of her tongue sliding over him with smooth precision. His lust kindled sharply, making his loins tingle with a maddening sensitivity. Relief had to come soon, or he would go insane. He touched her hair, gently at first, then with quicker, more intense strokes. She had him pressed against the wall, and with each bob of her head sent him closer to nirvana. When he reached the point of no return, Daijiro grabbed both sides of her head, and pushed himself all the way inside her mouth. He jettisoned himself deep into her throat. She struggled somewhat at first, and her fingers sunk hard into his thighs. But then she relaxed, and he could feel her throat working to accommodate him.

When it was over, and Lucia turned her head and coughed, Daijiro realized what he had done. It horrified him to lose control like that. He slid to the floor, and desperately searched for her face. "Oh, Lucia, I'm so sorry! I couldn't help it; it felt so good. Did I hurt you? I'm sor--"

Lucia clamped a hand over his mouth. "What are you apologizing for?" Her eyes gently berated him with a firm stare. "Why would I not want you to need me like that?"

When she pulled her hand away, his eyes were shiny with tears. "Oh, Lucy, I love you so much!"

After he spoke, she fell to the floor and stretched out on her back. "Well, then," she said, her eyes closing, "let's see what you got for me."

Daijiro sprang forward, landing hot, moist kisses on her face and neck. He wanted to devour her.

And so it began. They stole away to the same motel every time she returned, reverting to a primal state of eating, sleeping, and sex. They ended up being such regular customers that Daijiro paid for the room for months in advance, whether they had time to use it or not. As Lucia's crew also had leave once a month, no questions were asked about her absence from the ship. If Todo suspected they were involved, he didn't let on, for which Daijiro was grateful. Lucia would accuse him at times of being terribly uptight and paranoid because he took her cover so seriously. When they met anywhere in public, he always made her travel separately. But even apart from the flagrant policy violations their relationship entailed, he and Lucia jeopardized their cover every time they went to the motel. Daijiro knew that St. Cyr had MIS agents working for him, and he had yet to learn all of their identities. It was a constant worry. But he was intoxicated with her. Lucia was the only bright spot in his tedious, duty-bound life.

When she was on leave, he would ply her with fresh fruit and sweets, food that would be hard to come by in the barren, tedious stretches of space that marked the Dutchman's route.

Daijiro remembered one night after a picnic dinner of sorts in his office, when they had to stay and work. He was reclining in a chair reviewing a stack of memos. Lucia had sat down at his desk to type her latest report, and popped some of the coconut candy he had bought into her mouth. She patted her belly, now slightly rounded from the recent meal. "You're going to make me fat," she told him.

"Lucy, you could weigh three-hundred pounds, and I'd still fuck you like crazy." When she didn't say anything, he looked up and peered more closely at her. "Are you blushing?" he asked.

Lucia averted her eyes. "Maybe."

Daijiro grinned, and went back to his work.

"A man died because of me," Lucia was saying.

Daijiro's eyes spiraled back into focus. "What?"

"A man died because of me!" She signaled the waitress. "Can I get this to go, please?"

Daijiro looked down at the plate. She hadn't touched it. When the waitress was out of earshot, Lucia leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. "I chatted up a receiving clerk at Good Hope. I asked him, casual-like, what was done with the shipment after we dropped it off. He didn't answer me right away, but when he gave me the form to sign, he slipped me a note." Lucia took a crumpled piece of white paper from her side pocket and handed it to Daijiro. Written on it was the phrase 'weird experiments', and below that, a series of numbers.

"What do the numbers mean?" he asked. Inside, he was ecstatic. Another major turning point had been achieved.

Lucia shrugged. "I don't know. The point is, he disappeared after that. Vanished. Somebody else was there to run inspection when the empty crates were loaded back in." Her lower lip began to tremble, which she tried to mask by gulping down some water.

Daijiro suddenly noticed how puffy and tired her eyes looked. He wondered if she were losing weight. "He probably just went off shift," he offered.

"No, you don't understand! He's been there from the beginning, since we started making the runs. Rutger worked shipping and receiving all the time. Maybe he didn't need sleep, or they wouldn't let him; I don't know. But somebody must have seen the exchange."

The waitress returned with the wrapped up food. They left for the motel, but not before Daijiro rushed back to the table and retrieved the wet cigars. He would throw them in the trash somewhere along the way.

In the motel room, Lucia stared aimlessly around before slumping to the floor. Tears welled in her eyes. "I made a mistake! My stupid shit question cost Rutger his life!" Regret soaked words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush, and soon she was bawling into her hands.

At once, Daijiro leapt down to scoop her into his arms. Lucia cried with harsh, shudder-inducing sobs, and clung to him tightly. He wanted to tell her that she was being paranoid, and jumping to conclusions. But her assessment was probably correct. Their enemy obviously had a lot to hide if even a casual inquiry from a lowly freighter captain spooked them into committing murder. Daijiro could tell the pressure was getting to her. He didn't want to pull her so deep into the project, but would do so in a second if she asked him, whether his late uncle would approve or not. He held her for a long time, providing what comfort he could. It seemed to work, for her crying soon subsided, and her body relaxed against him as he gently rocked her back and forth. The room became deathly quiet, and wrapped about the pair like a shroud.

"I'll be more careful next time," Lucia whispered.

"Lucy," he whispered back, "I wouldn't have had you do anything differently. Anything at all."

To Be Continued....