Chapter 1
MEETING
Johner stepped out of the doorway into the deserted street. Even in Westcoast, some streets were deserted at 3:00 in the morning. He took a deep breath of the fresh night air, a relief after the air of the bar, almost palpable with smoke, liquor fumes, and essence of overheated bodies.
As he walked slowly across the street, heading for his room and his bed, he ruminated on the evening behind him. He must be getting old. Drinking didn’t interest him much any more, and he couldn’t even get himself up to join the one brawl that he had witnessed. When a fight no longer drew him, the situation was getting serious.
But maybe it depended on the fight. As he rounded the corner into his street, he stopped to witness an interesting sight. Twenty five yards away, under a streetlight, stood an unusual group. Three large men encircled one small slight woman, menace in every line of them. As Johner watched, they closed in.
He started forward at a run; this was a fight worth getting into. But he needn’t have bothered; by the time he had covered the distance all three men were lying on the ground. One was moaning and moving slightly, but the other two were apparently out cold.
As he approached, the woman whirled toward him, her hands up, her body tense in defensive posture.
OK, it’s OK, I’m on your side," he said quickly, holding up his hands, "I was coming to help." He looked around at the carnage. "But I guess you didn’t need me. Pretty good work, lady!"
"Thanks." She relaxed slightly. "They weren’t much. Amateurs."
"And you’re a professional?"
"Security."
"Ah."
She surveyed her handiwork lying on the ground. "Do any of them need an ambulance?"
He leaned over to look at the nearest man. "This one’s coming to. That one’s already awake. They can take care of the other one, if he needs it."
She bent to retrieve a pack from the ground where she had dropped it. As she did so she flinched slightly. Johner knew that flinch. It was familiar to him from years of combat. She was hurt.
"All right. Where and what is it?"
Her look questioned him.
"You took one. Where and what?"
"It’s nothing. One of them had a knife; unfortunately he wasn’t the first one I went for. He got one in."
"Is it going to need sewing up?"
"I suppose so. Feels like it. I’ll get it later."
"I’ve got a room over there." He pointed across the street. "Come on, I’ll sew it up for you."
She looked at him speculatively. After a minute she said, "OK, thanks."
______He laid out the implements he would need from a neat pack of first aid equipment. She watched with some interest as he threaded a needle and uncapped a bottle of antiseptic.
"OK, all ready. Let’s see it."
Without any hesitation she pulled her sweater over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything under it. She held the sweater up, her fingers through the hole cut in it. "Damn! Look at that! I liked this sweater!"
"Nothing lasts forever. Turn around."
The cut was in the back of her shoulder. It was about three inches long, and moderately deep, but not of a serious nature. It had bled freely; her back was bloody, and the waistband of her pants was soaked.
Johner examined the cut briefly. "This isn’t bad. Easy job." He poured antiseptic on a cotton pad. "This will sting." He swabbed the cut generously.
She flinched and shivered. "That hurt worse than the cut!"
"You were thinking about other things when you got cut. Now hold still." He began to take careful stitches. As he worked he asked, "What’s your name?"
"Connor. Sarah Connor. Ow!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, the pain is terrible. My name is Johner. Just Johner."
"Hello, Johner. And thanks. This is very good of you."
His grin wasn’t visible to her from where she sat. "How do you know I’m not going to ask for something in return? I’m a man, you’re a woman; it follows that you’ve got something I want."
"In your dreams. That’s not something that I use to pay my debts. You can ask, but don’t insist. You’re a big guy, and you’ve been around; I may not be able to stop you, but I’ll bet I can make you hurt bad enough that you’ll lose interest."
"Don’t worry about it. I like my women willing." He took a final look at his handiwork. "All done. About fifteen stitches." He began to ready a bandage.
She craned her neck to see over her shoulder. "Very professional job. You’ve sewed up a few in your time. What do you do? To make a living, I mean."
"Been crew on a space freighter for quite a few years, but I’m ready to spend some time on earth. I’m going to have to find something to do before long, the money won’t last forever. Guess I’d be best suited for what you do, now I think about it."
"Want a job? My outfit is looking for someone. You look like you could handle whatever’s thrown at you. Got weapons knowledge?"
"Just about anything made. I was weapons master on the freighter. And we had a few; our cargo wasn’t always delivered without some objections."
"OK. I’ll put in a word for you." She grinned at him. "Now, maybe you’ll give me something to wear. That is, if you’ve looked long enough."
He grinned back. "I’m getting old, but I’m not dead yet." He rummaged in a drawer and brought out a T-shirt. "This one’s too small for me anyway."
She put it on; it was roughly twelve sizes too big for her. "Not for me." She smiled at him again, and wrapped it around herself to take up the slack.
He stood up and stretched. "It’s four o’clock in the morning. Is there someone who’ll be wondering where the hell you are?"
"Not at the moment. I’ve got a son who lives with me, but he’s away at school. No one will worry."
"Want to sleep here? On the couch, I mean." His glance was full of amusement. "I’ll leave you alone, I don’t like pain."
"Yes I do want to. I wasn’t looking forward to trekking home at this hour. I’m not feeling in the greatest of shape." She looked at him measuringly. "What’s in this for you? What’s the deal that you’re being so helpful? You don’t strike me as a Good Samaritan by nature."
"Hah! I’m not. I’ve spent a good part of my life being not nice to people. You might say I did it for a living." He paused. "But lady, I saw a helluva demonstration of skill and guts tonight, from someone about as big as a minute. I liked that." He looked embarrassed by what he had said. He added quickly; "Well, fall down on the couch. I’ll cover you up." He went to a small chest against the wall and took out a blanket. "Come on, Connor, lay down, I’m tired and I want to go to bed. ---No, wait, take off those pants first, they’re all over blood. Under pants too, that shirt comes down to your knees."
She complied, and after moving around in the kitchen area for a few minutes he too settled in his bed and all was quiet. Sarah turned herself on her side, looking for a position to ease the discomfort in her shoulder. As she tried to get comfortable, she smiled into the dark.
This was a very good guy under the rough exterior. It sure was rough, though. He had been around all right, his face showed considerable wear and tear. A few battles there, not all of them won, from the number of scars.
Well, anyway, she felt perfectly safe with him. She shrugged her shoulders, wincing as she was reminded forcefully of the evening’s events. For whatever reason, and with all her experience to the contrary, she trusted him; and she’d lived long enough to know when to go with her gut instinct. She turned over again, found a more comfortable position, and went to sleep.