But I'll go ahead and post it anyway. It's a AoS/LFN crossover, and I haven't seen any of those yet (doesn't mean there aren't any out there, I just haven't seen 'em). Comments are always appreciated, even "I hate it"'s because it lets me know what people think. Thanks!

The Middle Eastern sun hung big and bright over the small ship bobbing in the center of a vast sea of sparkling azure waters. The wind was blowing strong, filling the sails with welcome gusts…and sending Bryn’s long dark hair blowing straight back into her face. She swore under her breath and pushed absently at it, trying to concentrate on the tiny dark spot on the eastern horizon. Land. They would reach it by daybreak tomorrow, and she, personally, could not wait. The delicate empath loved the sea, but two weeks without sight of land was enough to put anyone’s mind into a state of unrest. The whole crew echoed her wish to be on land, even their fearless captain, Sinbad himself.

Bryn smiled gently as she thought of the young captain. He had been a friend to her when she’d needed it, and was a constant ally in this crazy world she now called home. It was so unlike the world she’d been raised in, so unlike anything she’d ever known. Things she took for granted growing up she now did without…and didn’t even think twice about, most of the time. This was indeed a different world, and she was glad of it. Too much heartache came with her old one…it had been time for a change. That this particular change had not been her choice did not bother her—she was just glad to be away from all that had gone before. This was her life now, and she was more content here, on the ship, with these people, than she ever had been before, among those like her…

"Copper for your thoughts?" a gentle voice asked, and Bryn smiled to herself as she turned. Sinbad stood behind her, a quizzical smile on his handsome, tanned face. His dark hair hung to his shoulders in slight waves, and his smiling blue eyes echoed the very hue of the ocean.

"Just thinking about the great mysteries of life," she said, smiling in return. They did not know a thing about her past—and she intended to keep it that way. She kept them from asking about it by telling them she couldn’t remember anything except her name. In truth, she had been suffering from amnesia when they first met, but it had disappeared after a few days. Still, she had not told them a thing about her. Aye, and they wouldn’t have believed me if I had, she thought to herself. No one here would believe anything about my old world unless they saw it for themselves. And that was impossible. She was not going back. Nothing could ever make her face that pain again, nothing.

Sinbad’s grin grew wider at her answer, and he stepped closer, also staring out at the horizon. "Life is a mystery," he agreed, nodding and letting the wind blow back his hair. Then he turned sideways, grinning at her. "And yours is more of a mystery than most."

Bryn forced herself to smile, though a sharp, guilty pain shot through her at his words. He was so trusting, so…so innocent compared to the people she used to know! He never even gave one thought to the fact that she might be lying to him about her past—she doubted the thought had ever even crossed his mind. And to be honest, she didn’t like lying to him. But what would they think of me if I told them now? she asked herself. Plus the fact that they would never believe me… No, it was far better to go on with the charade. It would, eventually, become fact anyway. Her memories of life in her old world would fade with each passing middle eastern day, as this new one grew more and more real. And soon, she would become the person they all thought she was. Her amnesia would come back again…this time self-induced. She didn’t want to remember.

Sinbad sighed and touched her face lightly with one fingertip. He did that often, and Bryn was beginning to wonder just why. Their relationship had been, at the beginning, one of mutual camaraderie and friendship. Now she wouldn’t know what exactly to call it. They had kissed, once, about a month ago, and now Bryn would sometimes find Sinbad watching her with the strangest expression on his face. It made her feel slightly giddy inside, as if a whole swarm of butterflies were living in her stomach. She smiled inwardly and shook her head ruefully. Sinbad was a strange one. There was pain in his life—two former loves had been stolen from him, and his parents had been killed at an early age—and he was dubious of getting too close to anyone now. He was hesitant around her, and she didn’t know if it stemmed from his reluctance to form relationships for fear he would be hurt again, or some other unknown reason. But whatever the cause, she was willing to let him take his time in whatever he wished to do. This was her home now, on the Nomad, and she was loving every moment of it. Whether she and Sinbad were just friends, or something more, she didn’t really care. She was just happy to be a part of such a caring, loving family. For that’s what they were—a family.

"It’s my turn at the tiller," Sinbad said without enthusiasm. "I’ll see you later?"

Bryn laughed a little, knowing what he was getting at, and hooked her arm through his. "Come on, sailor, I’ll keep you company while you take the tiller."

Sinbad’s face split into a wide grin again, showing off his deep dimples, and Bryn had to laugh. That smile…those sea-blue eyes…the way he gazed deep into her eyes until she swore he saw her soul…it was enough to drive her crazy. "You are truly the epitome of courtesy, my lady," he said and she giggled again, resting her forehead against his shoulder as she did so.

"Come on, Captain, you’ve got a tiller to man," she said, guiding him away from the bow of the ship. "You can be chivalric later."

*****

Dawn saw them safely in the port of Basra, one of their frequent destinations. Bryn was up and about already, along with most of the crew, including the captain. No one slept much after dawn on board the Nomad—there was too much to do. Now Sinbad and his first mate (and older brother) Doubar were finalizing the day’s to-do list while the others waited for their jobs.

"Okay, listen up!" Sinbad called, and the sailors quieted. "Kareem, Achmed, Jabar, and C’net, you all have shore leave for the rest of the day. Report back here tomorrow at dawn for your assigned work." The four men cheered happily and exited, excited to finally be on dry land. "Doubar, Rongar, Bryn, Firouz, and I will stay on board and start restocking and general repairs while they rest. Tomorrow we’ll switch. Everyone okay with this?"

There was a general consensus and Sinbad nodded, happy. "Good! Let’s get to work!"

There wasn’t too terribly much damage to the ship; they hadn’t run into any particularly bad weather during their two weeks out at sea. The desk in Firouz’s cabin had been badly burned by one of his experiments and he was in need of a new one, but that was about the worst damage the ship had sustained during their voyage. Wood was cut from the forest just outside town and hewed and sanded into a makeshift tabletop. The legs of the old table were fine—it was a simple matter to transfer them from the ruined tabletop to the new one. Other than that, the ship needed to be restocked with provisions and cargo. The caliph of Basra was more than happy to supply the cargo—Sinbad charged much less than some other sailors for the deliverance of goods, so there was always a steady stream of cargo forthcoming from the palace.

It was nearing noonday, and the hot sun poured down upon the tired sailors with all its strength when Bryn’s head suddenly shot up. She’d felt something strange, yet oddly familiar. Something she’d not felt since…

"Bryn? You okay?" Sinbad’s concerned voice startled the petite empath, and she jumped slightly. He touched her shoulder lightly, a concerned gesture.

"No harpies or skeletons or large slathering monsters are suddenly going to jump out at us, are they?" Doubar asked dryly, glancing up toward the hot white sky.

"No, no, it’s not that…" Bryn said, frowning slightly. "It’s just…nothing. It’s gone now. Forget it, everything’s okay."

"You sure?" Sinbad cupped Bryn’s face gently in his hand and gazed into her eyes. The concern in those liquid azure spheres almost overwhelmed her but she shook off his touch, afraid that he might somehow guess the truth from gazing at her in such an intimate way.

"I’m sure," she said, going back to her work. "It’s nothing, Sinbad, nothing."

"If you say so," he said, but she could tell by the tone in his voice that she had hurt his feelings by brushing him off. Sighing inwardly, she turned back to him and squeezed his hand briefly.

"There’s nothing wrong," she said, gazing into his eyes this time. Thankfully, he squeezed her hand back and smiled.

"Like I said, Bryn, if you say so. You’re the magical one, remember?"

No, you are, Bryn whispered inside her head. How else could you make me feel this way?

*****

The blond woman appeared on the ship about an hour later. She was dressed strangely, and Sinbad knew suddenly that she was not some damsel in distress like he so often rescued. Not this one. She, like Bryn, walked with a certain purpose, a certain self-assured attitude that nothing could shake.

She climbed the gangplank and stood on the deck. Strange dark spectacles covered her eyes so the sailors could not see them. She wore skintight black pants, much like Sinbad’s own, and a silver shirt with short sleeves that hugged her body close. She also wore a black jacket in spite of the sweltering heat, and did not look the least bit uncomfortable with this arrangement. She stood there on the deck of the Nomad, her manner assured and confident even though she looked so out of place.

Bryn, to everyone’s surprise, slowly rose and stepped toward the newcomer. The blond woman did not move, and though they could not see her eyes, the crew knew they followed Bryn’s every movement. The dark-haired empath stopped when she was perhaps a foot from the other woman, and stepped to the side. The blond woman stepped so they were still facing each other. Round and round it went, slowly, neither turning their back on the other. Sinbad saw that Bryn had slipped into her defensive stance, knees slightly bent, arms loose, ready to move swiftly should anything happen. He tensed and made sure his sword was loose in its sheath in case anything…untoward…should happen.

Suddenly the two women stopped, and, as one, they grinned broadly. "Buddy!" they both said in perfect unison, and stepped forward without hesitation, clasping each other in a warm, friendly hug.

Sinbad blinked in shock and glanced around at the equally shocked faces of his crewmembers. They glanced back at him and he shrugged his shoulders. He had certainly never seen this woman before, and Bryn never spoke of anyone she’d met in their travels, or before…

The blond woman released Bryn and they stepped back. She pulled off the funny spectacles, and they all got a good look at her face. She was beautiful in her own unique way, though not with Bryn’s dark, delicate looks. Her hair was a golden blond, not a color one ran into much in the middle east, and her eyes were a startling ice blue. Not the warm sea blue of Sinbad’s, but a colder blue. Cold, but not unkind, Sinbad decided. Wary, that was it.

"What do you want?" Bryn asked, herself wary now that their friendship had been secured. Yes, they were still friends, but why was she here? She hadn’t known where they’d sent her…when they sent her. What was she doing here now? She was never supposed to know…

The blond woman glanced at Bryn amusedly. She let her icy-blue gaze flick to the sailors and back again. "Your friends seem…surprised," she said. She had an exotic accent that Sinbad couldn’t place.

Bryn glanced back at them, worry and regret filling her eyes. "Guys? We have some stuff to talk about," she said softly.

"Indeed we do," Sinbad said, equally softly. "Right now, how about we start with some introductions?"

"If you don’t mind," the woman said, "Can we do this downstairs? This place is highly visible."

"Of course," Bryn said, glancing around suddenly. She felt her old defensive habits kick in again, and she resented it greatly. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Seeing her had brought her old world crashing down upon her again, a world she’d vowed to forget and never think about again. She’d been given a second chance, which is more than anyone else could ever hope for. I didn’t want it, she thought fiercely. I wanted to stay…but now I don’t want to go back. I won’t be able to keep up now. I’ve changed. I’m not who I used to be. Sinbad has changed me…for the better.

They all trooped downstairs, finding spots to sit inside the galley. Bryn and the stranger both had the slightly annoying habit of sitting on the table itself, Sinbad noticed, and he wondered what else they would have in common. He felt almost betrayed now that it appeared Bryn had not been completely truthful with him…betrayed and very, very confused.

"Sinbad, everyone," Bryn began, "This is Nikita. She is…a friend of mine. From before."

"Before you became part of the crew," Doubar said flatly. "The ‘before’ you said you couldn’t remember."

"Yes," Bryn affirmed. She cast a warning glance at Doubar. "And I had my reasons. They might not seem important to you, but they are my reasons, and I felt they were good enough to justify what I did."

Sinbad settled down further in his chair. He had a feeling he was in store for a very long, very interesting story.

*****

"Bryn," Nikita said, "I have a reason I am here."

"Don’t I know it," Bryn laughed, no amusement or mirth in her voice or laugh. "You never do anything just because. There’s always a reason, isn’t there? Sometimes four or five underlying reasons. Sometimes more. Tell me, Nikita, when was the last time you did something because you wanted to and not because Section told you?"

The blond woman flushed and looked down for a moment before answering. The silence drew on for what seemed like an eternity. Finally: "I don’t know," she said. "But that’s irrelevant right now. I need to ask your help."

"I could have guessed that was coming!" Bryn said. She sounded angry now. "Section promised when they sent me here that they would leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with them, Nikita, and I won’t help them in their schemes! Why can’t they just leave me alone?"

Nikita’s voice hesitated for a moment, but she pushed on, sheer will holding her together. The sailors could tell she didn’t like what she had to say. "It’s not Section that sent me here. If Operations knew I’d found out where you were, I’d be canceled immediately, no questions asked."

Bryn raised her head, surprise flickering in her dark chocolate eyes. "Why risk it then? There’s not much I can do from here—" she gestured around her, "—that Walter or Birkoff can’t do from the other side."

"Maybe not," Nikita said, "But I have to ask. If you can’t do it, no one can. Bryn, it’s about Michael."

Bryn hesitated for a moment, a long moment that, to Sinbad, seemed to last centuries. Her face was blank, an expression he had come to know meant that she was hurting inside but refused to show it. "What about Michael?" she asked, and the soft, familiar way she said his name made Sinbad’s insides twist in pain.

"Did you know anything about his mission, the one he’s been on for over four years now?" When Bryn shook her head, Nikita continued. "They married him to a woman whose father they were after. Elena. Together, they had a son. He’s a sweetheart, the cutest little boy I’ve ever seen," Nikita said. She raised her piercing eyes to Bryn. "The mission ended not long ago. Elena and the boy—Adam—live. But, as you could have guessed, Michael is not allowed to have any contact with them at all. He’ll never see his son again."

Bryn nodded. "Typical. It has Operations written all over it." She sighed. "What has this to do with me?"

"Michael’s not himself now, Bryn. You should see him; it’s heartbreaking! He barely eats, he doesn’t take care of himself like he should—he looks awful—and he’s performing horribly out on missions. They gave him a little time off, but not enough to let him heal. How do you heal after losing your son? Operations is not pleased at all. He keeps telling Michael to get over it. Michael’s got to find something to live for—he’s given up all hope."

"What do you expect me to do about it?" Bryn asked.

Nikita didn’t hesitate at all. She leaned close to the delicate empath, her ice blue eyes boring into Bryn’s soft brown ones. "I want you to find Adam and let Michael see him."

*****

The stars were bright that night, small points of twinkling brightness amid the velvet blackness of the sky. Bryn lay prone on the deck, staring up at them as if their steady presence could clear her tumultous thoughts. Nikita had asked of her the impossible, but she did not think she could refuse this. It hit too close to home, too damn close for her to, in all conscience, ignore her plea. She would have to find some way to do the impossible…even though it most likely meant losing the new, simple life she’d come to love. And her friends, too. She didn’t know how they’d taken the news of her past life. She’d told them as little as possible, trying to free her mind in preparation for the difficult task of finding Michael’s son and somehow leading Michael there.

They most likely buried that boy and his mother as deep as they buried me, she muttered to herself, silently. It’ll mean hacking into Section’s deepest files…going wherever they’ve sent him…somehow getting Michael to believe us…all the while keeping Section off our backs…

A soft creaking of floorboards alerted Bryn’s sharp senses to another presence. She shifted slightly as Sinbad sat down near her head. "Hey," he said, the first to break the silence. She sighed tiredly, sadly, and moved again so that the back of her head was touching him lightly. His near hand gently drifted into her long, silky hair, stroking through it absently.

"Sinbad, I’m sorry," she murmured. He didn’t stop the movement of his hand, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the touch and just being near him.

"So who’s this Michael?" he asked softly. "Never mind, I don’t think I want to know. Bryn, why didn’t you tell us before? Why did you keep it all a secret? Didn’t you trust us?"

She turned swiftly so she could gaze into his eyes. "Oh, Sinbad, you’ve got it all backwards!" she said. "I trust you! It’s myself I didn’t trust. Myself, and others."

"Then why didn’t you tell us about your past? If you trusted us… Bryn, what’s happened in your life that’s so awful that you refuse to talk about it?"

"You don’t want my life story, Sinbad," she said dryly. "Trust me, you don’t."

"Maybe not," he said, his hand drifting slowly to caress her cheek. "But I need it. Bryn, I need to know. Tell me."

She sighed and drew in another breath. "Are you comfortable?" she asked. "This may take a while."

"Ready and waiting," he said, a hint of his old humor finding its way back into his voice.

"Just remember, you asked for it," she said. "I was born in a normal household…sort of. I lived in a place very different from here. We had many…inventions, I guess…that you do not have here. Our world was very different from yours."

"World?" he asked.

"Time, I guess, would be a better word. I…I’m from the future, Sinbad. So is Nikita. She lives about a century away from us. But anyway, like I said, for a while my life was fairly normal. I had a mother and father, and an older brother. I had a little sister, too, but she died when she was four."

"How did she die?" Sinbad asked softly.

"She was hit by a car—a vehicle we used for transportation. It’s like a cart, but without horses. It propels itself, and it goes very, very fast. She was playing in the middle of a street, and the driver didn’t see her. The car crushed her skull—she died instantly."

"I’m sorry." He truly sounded sorry. Bryn smiled slightly and turned toward him so her face brushed against his upper leg.

"It’s okay, it happened a long time ago. Anyway, everything was normal until I became a teenager. My brother was three years older than me. At sixteen he joined a revolutionist militia group, bent on overthrowing the government of our country. They held small riots here and there, tried to spread the word about their ideas. He would leave and we wouldn’t see or hear from him for weeks at a time. My parents never knew whenever he left the house if they would ever see him again. I think it’s the worry that killed them, eventually, though my brother swears it was something else."

"Your parents are dead?" Sinbad sounded genuinely surprised, and his hand stilled in her hair for the first time since he’d asked for her story. It surprised him to hear they had this pain in common. Wounds that deep didn’t just go away, they stayed hidden deep in a person’s psyche forever, turning into scars eventually.

"Aye," she affirmed. "They died when I was fifteen. My brother took me in and cared for me for about a year and a half after that. Then I went out on my own."

"You were on your own at seventeen?" he asked, clearly shocked by this fact. "It’s not safe for a seventeen-year-old girl to be alone in the world! Anything can happen…"

"Yes, Sinbad, anything can happen," Bryn said, smiling. "But, in my case, it didn’t. Not yet. I finished my mandatory schooling with honors, and I decided to enroll in an art academy. I always loved to paint and sculpt, and I thought I might be able to do that for a living. So I went to art school. Soon after enrolling I lost track of my brother. It would be two full years before I saw or heard about him again.

"During this time I met a man named Peter. He was a fellow student at my school, and he and I became good friends. He had a mother, but his father had been listed as Missing In Action during a war when Peter was just a child. He never knew if his father was dead or alive, or what kind of death he might have suffered. There just wasn’t any information. I was really missing my brother, and Peter kind of filled the void his absence had created.

"Then, suddenly, my world exploded again. A strange person called my home and told me that my brother was alive, and he wanted to see me. I was to meet them at a certain place at a certain time, and they would take me to him. I was afraid for him, so I went. They blindfolded me and tied my hands up and put me in a car. We drove for what seemed like forever. Finally, we stopped and I was led out of the car and into a strange building. A lady—not old, not young—greeted me and told me as long as I cooperated no harm would come to me or my brother. What else could I do? She wanted to know if I had ever thought I ‘heard’ anyone else inside my head—thoughts or feelings from other people around me. I told her yes, I had. Telepathy, and magic in general, is not widely believed in where I come from, so I was surprised she would ask me this. Then she gave me some tests, trying to see if I was lying or not. I wasn’t, of course, so I passed all of them. Then they let me see my brother."

"And?" Sinbad prompted. He touched Bryn’s face gently, softly, his hand tracing patterns along her delicate, silken skin.

"He was…different. He wasn’t the boy who used to climb trees and ride horses with me. He wasn’t even the sullen teenager who had joined a militia group and terrorized the countryside. He was…dead, almost, I guess; like the life had been sucked out of him. He didn’t talk in anything above a monotone. I could tell the moment he laid his eyes on me that he’d been hoping to God that I wouldn’t be there. He died a little more when he saw me.

"He told me that this place was called Section One, a secret anti-terrorist group. Nobody knew about them. People they recruited to help them stop terrorists were usually simply picked up off the streets…and never seen again. There was a whole secret world behind the one I’d known before! At first I was proud to be helping them, and I didn’t see past the fact that I was helping save the world. Then, I began to see what really went on at Section. I hadn’t seen before, since I wasn’t a real ‘operative’ as they call them, all that went on. Their ends are just—to stop terrorism—but their means are ruthless. They don’t care how many innocents they hurt in their quest to kill the bad guys. Often it is operatives—their own workers—who die. If you don’t perform up to standards, you get ‘canceled’ as they call it. It’s just a fancy way to say they’ll kill you. If you do something wrong, if you question their judgment, if you breathe wrong, it could be grounds for cancellation. If you don’t play by their rules, you die."

"But that’s not right!" Sinbad exploded. "Human beings deserve to be treated better than that!"

Bryn nuzzled him gently, finding his touch comforting. "I know, Sinbad, but that’s the way it is. That’s why my brother didn’t want me to be there—he knew. He didn’t want me subjected to the terrors that go on daily there. But by then it was far too late.

"I worked closely with a woman named Madeline for a long while. She was the head of psychology, I guess is the best way to say it. Her job was to mess with people’s minds. And I helped. I could probe someone’s mind and tell her their exact weaknesses, what would make them crack and tell her all their secrets." Bryn’s voice became harsh, containing a wealth of disgust and revulsion. "She killed people daily…and I helped!"

"Oh, Bryn…" Sinbad said. He didn’t quite know what else to say. He couldn’t say he understood—he didn’t. The closest he’d come to harming innocent people was when he’d been under a powerful spell. He’d actually pulled a sword on his own brother! But how much worse for Bryn, to have helped cause many deaths where those people didn’t even have a chance…

"The man running everything is Operations. He’s fairly old, though not elderly yet—not by a long shot. It was a quick, passing remark that made him take interest in me. I let something slip—I don’t remember what—about my old friend Peter. I wasn’t allowed contact with anyone I’d known before, so I didn’t know anything about how Peter was doing. Operations showed an intense interest in him, and he grilled me for any information I had about him. After a while, he called me into his office and showed me a picture of Peter, and asked if it was him. I told him yes, and he then asked me to set up a meeting between the two of them. I couldn’t very well say no! So I did.

"Peter was ecstatic to hear from me again, and he agreed to meet me at the foot of a mountain we used to climb. I didn’t tell him Operations was coming with me. When we got to the mountain, he was standing there waiting for me. He looked just like he always had. I didn’t know what Operations wanted with him—he was a carefree, silly art student who wanted nothing more than to paint pictures for a living. What would terrorist-hunters want with a starving artist?"

Sinbad’s hand moved off her hair, and found her own hand. He interlaced their fingers and squeezed her hand gently. "What did he do?" he asked softly.

"Operations just sat there inside the car, staring at Peter." Bryn’s voice grew softer as she remembered. "Peter didn’t know we were there—we just sat inside the car, with darkened windows so he couldn’t see us. Then Operations asked me to get out and introduce him as a man who was sponsoring artists."

"Did your friend believe it?"

"Yes. I thought Peter was dead for sure—why would Operations, the head of the most covert anti-terrorist group on the planet, want to sponsor an artist? It wasn’t until after the meeting that I understood. Operations told me, on the way back to Section, that my best friend Peter was his son."

"His son???" Sinbad sounded incredulous. He tightened his grip on Bryn’s hand just slightly, and she squeezed back.

"Yes. Apparently, he had been born just before Operations was forced to go to war. He was captured by the enemy, and held in a Prisoner Of War camp for years. Then, when he returned to my country, he became involved in the Section activities. After he returned, he could not find his wife and son anywhere. It was as if they’d disappeared. At that time, he was not allowed to use Section’s advanced technologies for personal use—"

"But I thought you said he ran Section?" Sinbad asked. "Couldn’t he bend the rules a little?"

Bryn chuckled, a dry sound with no humor. "Aye, he can now, and make no mistake, he does. But back then he was not in charge. A woman named Adrian was." Bryn’s voice grew softer as she said that name. "Adrian was like a mother to me. Twilight had already fallen on her time as the leader of Section when I first came in, but her influence kept Operations from changing things too terribly much for a while. I loved her very much."

"And Operations took her place?"

Bryn sighed, not what he would call a happy sound. "He wanted status, money, power. He wanted—and still wants—to create the world in his own image. Running Section was a way to do that. His time in the POW camp was not a happy period of his life…it twisted and corrupted him into what he is today. He has demons in his soul, demons that plague him every day of his life. I pity him for that, but I do not think it condones the way he has chosen to deal with that pain."

"By making everyone else hurt too," Sinbad said, nodding.

"Aye. Section is no longer what Adrian envisioned it would be. It was supposed to take orders from the governments of the free nations, it was supposed to be a humane organization. You can’t fight the dark forces with more darkness…though Operations and Madeline will try."

"I think I understand a little more, now," Sinbad said softly. "But I want you to know that you could always have come to me and talked of this. You have to know that we would not have judged you because of the kind of life you’ve led." He touched her face again, his warm fingers lingering against her soft skin.

"Sinbad, I know that now," she said, "but when I first came on board I didn’t. And I had lost my memory for a while. But then when it came back to me, I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe someone with a story like mine unless I’d seen it firsthand! Time travel, secret organizations within governments, strange technology that scientists right now have yet to dream of…"

Sinbad smiled, and his voice held a touch of mirth. "I have to admit, it is a little hard to believe…but I trust you, Bryn. You wouldn’t lie to me, not about something important like this."

She smiled in relief. "Thank you, Sinbad. You don’t know how much that means to me."

Sinbad’s smile gentled as his hand continued to caress her face. "I think I do," he said softly. "Remember just after Kundolini put that spell on me, and I turned evil?"

Bryn laughed lowly. "How could I forget? For a few days there, you weren’t our captain anymore."

"Well," he went on, "after you broke the spell, I thought there would be some friction between me and the crew; you know, because I’d acted so awful. I pulled a sword on my own brother and had him locked in the brig! But there wasn’t any friction at all. Everyone forgave me, including Doubar. I was so relieved, and thankful, and that’s why I can’t be angry with you. I know how you feel."

"But you were under a spell when you committed those acts, Sinbad! You didn’t know what it was you were doing…"

"It doesn’t matter," he said. His hand drifted into her hair again, the silken strands slipping like liquid through his fingers. "I am responsible for all my actions, no matter what kind of ‘spells’ people try to put me under." He smiled softly. "And I’ll never forget that you didn’t give up on me, Bryn. The others were about ready to, but you wouldn’t let them. You kept faith in me, in your hope that you could reach me and break the spell." His sea-blue eyes were dark sparkles in the night, but Bryn could feel his gaze on her just the same. "I’ll never forget that."

"How could I have done else?" she asked softly. "I believed in you—I always have and I always will." She raised a hand and linked their fingers again.

"What are we going to do now?" he asked. "Bryn, I really hate to bring this up, but Nikita is here and she wants you to help this man named Michael. What are you going to do?"

Bryn sighed. "Help them," she said quietly. "It won’t be easy, but I can’t ignore this plea. It hits too close to home."

There was a long silence on Sinbad’s part, then, a silence that grew until Bryn could hardly bear it. Finally: "I don’t like this. You yourself have just said that it’s not safe to go back. They’ll kill you if they find out you’ve gone back!"

Bryn nuzzled him gently. "I don’t like this any more than you do, Sinbad, but I don’t really have much of a choice. You think I want to go back there? I love it here, I love being with you, all of you… I love being a part of this crew. I don’t want to leave, Sinbad, but I have to help them."

"I understand," he said softly. "Like I said before, I don’t like it, but I understand. Helping people seems to be our lot in life." He sighed. "Bryn, sit up, please."

She rose to a sitting position, facing him. He smoothed her hair back and cupped her face in one of his hands, letting his thumb slowly caress her cheek. "I’m going with you," he said quietly. She started to object, but he silenced her with a finger over her lips. "No, no arguments, not this time Bryn. We’re a team, you and I. You’ve always been there for me, and now I’m going to be there for you. I may not know much about this ‘technology’ stuff, but I’ll help all I can." His face was inches from her own, and she could feel his warm breath brush against her skin as he spoke. "All right, Bryn?"

"Sinbad, I don’t want you getting hurt, or even killed, on a mission you don’t believe in," she argued. Bryn reached up and took hold of the hand that cupped her face, an urgent gesture. She leaned forward and set her forehead against his, closing her eyes as she spoke. "I don’t want to lose you."

"You won’t," he whispered. "I’ll always be with you, no matter what. That’s why I’m going with you now." He smiled gently. "You’ve learned to live in my world, Bryn, now I get to learn to live in yours."

She sighed and opened her eyes again, though she did not move away. "What are my chances of convincing you to stay behind?" she asked. Sinbad smiled broadly, knowing he had won. His hand slid into her hair and clasped the back of her neck, tangling in her dark silken tresses.

"None," he whispered, then moved forward one inch and kissed her gently.

Bryn, though they were sitting so close to each other, was unprepared for the feel of the captain’s lips against her own. She stiffened in surprise for an instant, then relaxed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Memories of their last kiss flowed unbidden into her mind, then were swept away by the intensity of this one. There was no future, there was no past, the only thing Bryn was aware of was Sinbad, and he her. Bryn tightened her arms around him as he leaned forward to deepen the kiss, refusing to back away lest a moment like this never come upon them again. For, as much as she trusted in Sinbad’s abilities, there wasn’t much a master swordsman could do against a supercomputer. And that’s basically what they were going up against. I fear, my love, the back of her mind whispered, my loyalty to Michael may get us both killed.

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