Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Hunger's Harmattan by Unknown (best management books of all time TXT) 📗

After the vice-counselor and his sobbingwife had left his office, Miriam came over to the general’s door and eased itshut, giving her boss a pursed lip, rolling eye grimace as she did.

“So,” Strom said, relaxing in his chair.“What do you think, Colonel?”

“I believe the woman missed her calling,”Shanee replied. “She should have been an actress.”

Strom smiled slightly. “You didn’t buy hertears?”

“Those were crocodile tears, Sir,” Shaneesaid with a snort. “Shed to impress us with a sorrow I seriously doubt shefeels toward her missing son.”

“My feelings exactly,” Strom agreed. “Myguess is she wants him home in order to gain access to the rather heftyinheritance the duke of Kentsington would receive from the Harmattan estate.”He scratched his cheek. “Since no body was ever found, the bulk of the estatereserved for the primary heir still sits in an Éilvéiseachnumbered account, the password to which is known only by Ailyn Harmattan.”

“Since she is not long for this life, shemight not need or want her missing son’s money but I would lay odds thevice-counselor does and has been nudging her through this,” Shanee said.

“Or her youngest son does,” Strom injected.

“True.”

“All right, here’s the deal,” the generalsaid. “I have requisitioned an LRC for your use to Theristes. It’s about amonth’s flight out there, another month back. Since you were injured in theline of duty and Command Central owes you some R&R, take it on Theristes. Iwon’t expect you back for at least three months.”

Shanee’s white eyebrows shifted upward.“With or without the heir-apparent?”

“My guess is he’s like the rest of thosepoor wretches who were experimented on at R-9. From what I’ve been able togather, most of them fear what they have become and don’t want their familiesto know they’re still alive. I’ll bet you Ailyn Harmattan has no desire toreturn to this world. So—to answer your question—if he wants to return, fine.If he doesn’t, that’s okay too. We’ll leave it entirely up to him. If he wantsto send the password back with you for that numbered account, that will be hisdecision to make. If he wants to see his mother one last time before she kicksthe bucket, that’s his choice. My feeling is the man’s gone through enough as itis. He doesn’t need to be put through the wringer with that barracuda of amother cracking the whip over his head.” He unfolded his tall length from thechair and stood.

“When do I leave?” Shanee asked as she gotto her feet.

“Do you have anything on the burner thatneeds turning off?” he asked.

“I’ve no living pets, no plants and no palsto wonder where I’ve gone. My twin babies are powered down and can stay soindefinitely until I return. I can leave as soon as I pack a bag,” she said,making reference to her two Class 10 titanium construct cybots that were herpride and joy.

“That’s the way to travel,” he said,extending a hand to her. “Good luck, Colonel, and enjoy your stay in paradise.”

Chapter Two

Coming off Transition had to be worse thangoing into it, the Reaper thought as he hunkered down at the stream and lookedat his naked reflection in the water. Why he’d felt the need to shift and runabout the forest like one of its natural denizens, he couldn’t explain. But nowand again he would do so out of cycle just to feel the rush of the wind throughhis fur, the freedom of movement, the power. Staring at himself, he supposedone reason was because he had some control over the Transition at such timeswhereas with his regular cycle, he did not. What irritated him more than thatlack of control was the fact that no matter how close to his cycle he was whenhe forced himself to shift, he’d shift again when his system said he should.Two months, two weeks, two days—it didn’t matter. His normal cycle would comewhether he wanted it to or not. The only thing that could completely throw itoff—or so Tariq once told him—was illness or a serious injury.

“Either way, my fucking hair will continueto sprout like a weed!” he grumbled.

His hair hadn’t been cut since he’d arrivedon Theristes and now hung halfway down his back. Each time he reverted back tohuman form from the wolflike creature he had been turned into, it was his hairthat annoyed him the most. It was wild—frizzing around his head with matted tanglesclinging to its long tendrils.

“You need to cut the gods-be-damned shit,”he mumbled to his wavering image in the water.

Snarling, he ducked his head beneath thewater to soak his hair then straightened up, flinging the thick, wet mass overhis head, spraying water droplets in an arc above and behind him as it fellheavily to slap against his bare back. Wincing at the feel, he tugged it overhis right shoulder, sat down cross-legged on the stream bank and began combinghis fingers through the tangles then making quick work of braiding it.

For the longest time he just sat there. Hisbody twitched—needing the tenerse that would calm it and the Sustenance thatwould ease his hunger. He longed to dive into the stream but there was stillthe residual fear that he’d drown and the nagging prickle of pain in his backfrom the hellion who dared him to test Tariq’s words.

“You won’t drown, men,” the Prime Reaper had patiently explained. “It was a lie told toyou by the scientists on Riezell-Nine. Let me show you.”

Despite watching Tariq jackknife down thethree-hundred-foot-high waterfall beside the Reaper village and—with surestrokes—glide over the bubbling waters of Lake Briza, few men rescued from R-9had dared to venture into the water. Those who did practically lived in thelake, spending much of their time crisscrossing the silver surface and strivingto bring back the many years they’d lost in the cages on Cell Block Four.

“Reapers love water,” Tariq had insisted. “Try it and see!”

As yet, he had not dredged up the courageto investigate Tariq’s claims but the water beckoned to him with its coolnessand beauty. As a child, he had lived on his grandfather’s estate and everysummer day would find him out on