Okay, so I realize it's been over a month since I started. I do apologize most profusely for the wait. Life has been unpredictable, to say the least.
And, since I don't write four page chapters, this one is comparably short. Again, sorry.


The spy network is an amazing thing. Anything worth knowing, regardless of how inconsequential it may seem, somehow finds its way through the appropriate channels, to the ears of those interested most.
Reg’s call sparked a chain of events. Jesse Aimon’s name ensured that the information was passed on, filtered through informants and contacts, until it fulfilled its purpose and was filed away for future reference.

Adrian had built a fairly complete picture of Jesse. Fierro and Hayley had done their work efficiently, if somewhat hesitantly. He had been put in contact with an agent, alias Lyndsey Savon, who had been instrumental in the removal of the Aimon family. Her failure to eliminate Jesse seemed to have been excused by her handler, but Adrian did not approve of such errors. He disregarded the fact that Jesse had also eluded him, justifying it with the fact that his slip would shortly be rectified. It did not appear that this agent had even made an attempt on Jesse’s life, following his escape from the fire that had consumed his home. Adrian questioned her further, attempting to learn Jesse’s character and personality, before excusing himself amiably.
Ten minutes after their parting, Lyndsey Savon became the tragic victim of a drunk driver, who walked away from the accident and disappeared. Adrian was nothing if not thorough.

Fierro’s call came the next morning. Adrian had found another vehicle, nondescript and generic, procured from one of his many contacts. He was already preparing to move out when his phone rang.
“Adrian.”
“Fierro here.”
“Line’s clear?” Adrian demanded.
“Yeah, I’m sure of it. Got news on the Aimon kid.”
“Talk,” the dark-furred rabbit said tersely. Fierro did.
Adrian was not a stupid fellow. His mind was working long before Fierro finished.
“Tetracolyhydroxide?” What could he possibly want that for?
“That’s the stuff,” Fierro confirmed. “This kid’s not an addict, is he?”
“No,” Adrian said shortly. “Not with his psych profile. Not the type at all. He wants it for something else.”
“I’d say, since he got about two and a half gallons of the stuff.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“He paid the dealer in Carrotan gems. Medium quality, not large stones. Had a fair quantity.”
“Gems? Carrotan gems?”
“That’s what I said. That’s all the info I’ve got for you.”
“Where do I find the dealer?”
Fierro told him.
“Alright, thanks Fierro. I’ll follow up.”
“Yeah. Keep your trail clean, Adrian. Later.”
Fierro broke the connection before Adrian could respond.
Adrian was not a stupid rabbit. He had an excellent memory and a keen intelligence, which enabled him now to recollect the pertinent facts about tetracolyhydroxide. Putting two and two together was easy. Adding in the Carrotan gems, which indicated another ally for Jesse, and the result was logical.
He’s leaving Diamondus.
Well, Adrian would follow him. He had a score to settle, which was becoming intensely personal. The kid knew his name, knew his face, knew his voice and mannerisms, knew altogether too much for Adrian’s comfort.
The black rabbit conveniently forgot that his authority did not extend past Diamondus, indeed did not go past the edge of southern territory. To him, this had become a matter of self-preservation.

Jesse woke suddenly, coming fully alert in the darkness. The sound of his father’s voice still echoed in his ears, carried over from dreaming into the waking world. The teenager sought the comforting hum of the ship’s machinery, eager to erase the dream dialogue from his memory.
He dreamed frequently of Jonathan Aimon, these days. It was bitter irony that he should cringe from the memory of his father, once his greatest hero, now a dangerous, treacherous enigma. He had not approached Verity about her experience with Jonathan, and shied away from the idea. His image of the general had crumbled far enough. He had no wish to aid in its further destruction.
Something had woken him, not the dream; he rose silently and padded into the hallway, leaving the cabin he shared with Icarus. The other rabbit slept soundly, and Jesse had no wish to wake him. Their day had been busy, painting the ship with the tetra he had obtained. Icarus had been exhausted by nightfall.
Once in the hallway, the youth paused and listened carefully. Something was different about the ship’s sound, some ineffable variation that he could not place, that should not be present during the night cycle. Following his instincts, he drifted towards the cockpit, feet soundless on the deck. He paused at the threshold, observing the interior of the room and its’ sole occupant.
Verity was hunched before one of the terminals, its brightly lit screen painful to Jesse’s dark-accustomed eyes. She was not yet aware of his presence, and he debated leaving her to her solitary research. She bore him no love, after all, and his presence would undoubtedly prove unwelcome.
He had made no noise, but Verity twitched and swung around regardless, sensing his gaze. Her eyes widened and then narrowed with ill-concealed suspicion. Jesse looked away and considered the blank terminals, deliberately refraining from eyeing her screen.
“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice loud and jarring in the dimness. Jesse shrugged after a few seconds, laconic, attempting to look unthreatening.
“I heard someone,” he said. “Guess it was you.”
She favored him with a hard glare. Jesse wanted nothing more than to avoid this female, to ghost back into his room and return to sleep.
“You hate him so much,” he said suddenly, on impulse. “Jonathan. You hate him enough that you were going to kill me just because I look like him.”
“I thought you were him,” she snapped. “I’m still not convinced.”
She was lying, he thought. She distrusted him for other reasons. But he found suddenly that he needed to know, badly.
“What did he do to you?”
The question was so childish that Verity stared, briefly silenced, and in that moment Jesse looked younger than his seventeen years. He was so quietly confident that those around him often forgot that he was still a teenager, inexperienced by most standards. The reminder was unwelcome to Verity.
“None of your business,” she said, brushing away the concern and pain that Jesse’s voice expressed.
“It is my business,” he said quietly. “It became my business when I almost died because of what he did. I think I deserve to know what you almost killed me for.”
“No one needs to know except myself and Jonathan,” Verity said sharply, lifting her chin and daring him with her eyes to argue. Jesse dropped his eyes to the floor, considering his words. The silence stretched between them.
“You know he’s dead,” he said finally, breaking the quiet. “They burned his house to the ground with him and his family in it.”
“You can’t know that,” Verity objected flatly.
“It was all over the news,” he said quietly. “Showed his picture. He looks a lot like me. People said so then, too.”
He wanted desperately to tell her that he was Jonathan’s son, that Jonathan had hurt him too. Verity did not have to tell him what kind of a character his father was. Others had mentioned things as well. Reg, the lizard dealer, seemed to know Jonathan well; he had seen the resemblance between the two and his puzzled comments to Jesse had told the teenager far more than Reg knew. He wanted her to know that he shared the same kind of pain.
Of course, her predictable reaction would be to transfer blame from father to son, and carry out her revenge. Jesse was keen on survival. He kept his mouth firmly shut on the words he would like to say.
“I don’t believe you,” Verity stated, and the truth of that was obvious. Jesse shrugged again.
“Don’t, then.”
She spun her chair about and went back to the terminal, studiously ignoring Jesse. The white rabbit eyed her curiously.
“What are you doing, anyway?”
He began to wonder if she had even heard him, when she finally replied.
“I’m verifying our data,” she said, flicking to a new screen. “We have one chance. I want off this ball of dirt.”
“I can understand that,” he said dryly.
No answer was forthcoming, and she resumed ignoring him. Jesse turned, inwardly amused, to return to his cabin.
Tomorrow they would make their attempt, and Jesse prayed fervently that it would succeed. He, too, wanted off of Diamondus, but for his own reasons.
Adrian was still out there, and he had neither forgiven nor forgotten.