Balance of Terror Page 13

  She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but they slipped out without her thinking. She was consumed by anger, exhaustion and the addling her brain had taken when she’d been hit with that scrambler beam.

  Her gaze flew to Srin but, before she could stammer out an apology, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll get out of this. I know we will.”

  Had he said the words for her benefit? Or his own? Moon closed her eyes in momentary despair, just as the door slid open.

  The first person through the door was the man in battle armour, followed by the pale woman.

  The man had looked tall from Moon’s position on the floor of the cargo bay and that impression didn’t diminish when she eyed him while standing. Without the scars that radiated across his face, he might have been called handsome and, in fact, Moon wondered why he still wore them. They looked to be the traces of old wounds, easy enough for any modern medical facility to get rid of. His eyes, though, were cold and bitter, no matter that they were warmer in colour than Srin’s. She had never thought of grey as a comforting colour before but, next to this man, Srin’s eyes exuded exuberant cheerfulness.

  The woman stood silently by the door, while the man advanced.

  “My name’s Quinten Tamlan, and you’re aboard my ship, the Perdition.”

  It was obvious that he was expecting some reaction to his statement and he frowned when Moon and Srin exchanged puzzled glances.

  “What were you doing on Marentim?” he demanded when it was clear nobody was going to say a thing.

  “Trying to get across it.” Moon’s voice was dry.

  “Why?”

  “We were,” she hesitated, “heading for a rendezvous point.” That seemed a safe enough statement to make.

  “And where was this rendezvous point?” he pressed.

  What was she supposed to say? She didn’t know? She lifted her chin instead. “That is privileged information. Now it’s my turn. Where are our things?”

  He frowned. “You’re in no position to demand a ‘turn’ at questioning,” he answered. “For all you know, my young crewmember spaced everything you owned.”

  It didn’t occur to Moon until later that he was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction. And he must have known he’d succeeded beyond measure when she jerked and took an involuntary stumble forward. Only Srin’s grip, his fingers still tightly entwined with hers, stopped her.

  No, not the medicine! Not gone!

  She felt herself being pulled backwards and gently pushed into a seat, then Srin stood up, his bulk blocking part of her view. Protecting her.

  “You make it appear as if we should know you,” her lover said in that serenely calm voice of his, “but we’ve been, out of circulation, for a while.”

  “So you haven’t heard of my ship, the Perdition?”

  “No.”

  “Or an organisation called the ST Alliance?”

  She saw the back of Srin’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “No, I’m sorry, we haven’t.”

  Tamlan’s lips tightened. “Exactly how long have you been out of circulation, as you put it?”

  “For me, twenty years, give or take a few months. For my colleague here, almost as long I should think, judging from the rarefied atmosphere where she used to work.”

  Srin might have been speaking a foreign language because Moon, shifting position so she could peek past his elbow, could see the incomprehension on Tamlan’s face.

  “Where exactly are you from?” Tamlan asked, obviously thinking a different line of questioning might be more fruitful.

  “Marentim,” Srin answered simply, “and, before that, a planet on the other side of the galaxy, near the Fodox Stellar Barrens.”

  “And you were living near the Barrens for twenty years?”

  “You’re not going to believe me but I can’t answer that because I don’t know.”

  In the silence that followed, Moon surged to her feet.

  “I need our belongings,” she said. “It contains…medication. Important medication.”

  Tamlan’s gaze swivelled in her direction. “For you?”

  Moon hesitated.

  “For me,” Srin remarked. “For a condition I have.”

  Tamlan frowned. “What sort of condition?”

  Moon and Srin shared another speaking glance. What should they tell the man? Did they even have a choice?

  “Did the Republic see your shuttle leave Marentim?” Moon asked suddenly.

  Tamlan snorted and, behind him, Moon saw the white-skinned woman shift from one foot to another. “Mr. Cenredi may be an irresponsible joy-rider,” he said, “but he’s not stupid.”

  At Moon’s still puzzled look, he sighed. “No, we did not think it necessary to inform the Republic that our shuttle was leaving the surface of planet Marentim.” He clearly enunciated each word, as if speaking to a child. Moon’s lips tightened.

  She might not like the man, but at least he was on their side. Or, at a minimum, not on the Republic’s side.

  “And did you say you were a pirate?” she asked, sweetly.

  Tamlan’s eyes blazed. “We’re not pirates, let’s get that straight. This ship is part of the ST Alliance.” The woman shifted again, and the sound she made must have been enough for him to hear because he held up a hand. “Okay, for the time being, this ship is the ST Alliance.”

  “And what exactly,” Srin asked, “is the ST Alliance?”

  Tamlan cocked his head. It made him look younger, more boyish, but Moon couldn’t get beyond his abrasive personality.

  “You’ve never heard of us?” he repeated.

  “No.”

  “Well, if I ever get a swollen ego…,” he muttered. He was silent for a little while longer, obviously gathering his thoughts.

  “The ST Alliance,” he finally said, “is an organisation that’s ultimately geared towards the destruction of the Republic.”

  Moon’s eyes widened. Had she heard that correctly?

  “The destruction of?” she repeated.

  “That’s right. History has shown that ourgovernment was founded on corruption, has run on corruption and, instead of good sense asserting itself, continues to run on corruption.” His voice softened. “For our part, humans have committed genocide on other species, subjugated entire planets, destroyed cultures…experimented with alien species. It’s got to stop and somebody has to take a stand.”

  “And that’s you?” Srin asked. “In this ship?”

  Tamlan’s lips twisted at the tone of disbelief in Srin’s voice. “We’ve had our ups and downs,” he grudgingly conceded. “Let’s just say that, for the moment, we’re in the middle of a regrouping strategy.”

  It all seemed too good to be true. While running away from a mercenary trader who thought to exploit Srin’s abilities, they had fallen in with a vehemently anti-Republic group? Was Tamlan genuine about what he was saying, or was he some kind of unhinged fanatic?

  He looked from one of them to the other and incredulity filled his face. “You don’t believe me.” He turned to one side. “Saff?”

  “Yes, Quinten Tamlan?”

  Moon didn’t know anything about the actual relationship between the scarred man and the woman, but it was obvious from their body language that there was a bond between them and it was deep and mutual. The use of the woman’s name wasn’t to relay a command but to ask for support. And the woman moved instantly, balancing on balled feet, ready to spring into action the moment Tamlan said a word. They seemed a well-matched pair in one way, starkly different in another.

  “Maybe we can show our guests some history files,” he said slowly. “If they’ve really been off the nets for so long, there’s a lot they need to catch up on.”

  “Yes, Quinten Tamlan.”

  “What’s the time?”

  “Eleven, shiptime.”

  “Join us for a meal at nineteen hours,” he told the pair as he turned to go. “We’ll discuss more then.”

  Chapter Fourteen

>   “There’s something strange about this vessel,” Srin remarked.

  The woman called Saff had led them further into the ship. Where they had previously descended into a converted storage room, they were now ushered upwards, into what looked like accommodation quarters. With minimal words, Saff instructed them to sit, then she programmed a console with a selection of vid files.

  Srin supposed that he could have made an attempt to jump the tall humanoid when her back was turned, but what were he and Moon to do after that? Neither of them was skilled in piloting a space-faring vessel. It was so frustrating. They had enough money to buy a ship, but they didn’t have the knowledge to pilot one. He felt anger build up in him, akin to what Moon had described back in their cramped quarters in Gauder’s tank. Were the two of them destined to always rely on the goodwill of others? Were they never going to get the opportunity to forge their own path?

  They settled down and spent the next few hours obediently watching the vids. Finally, when finished, Srin sighed and looked around the small cabin. “I presume this is the prototype ship Tamlan jacked from the Republic.”

  Not only had they run through the files, they sometimes replayed segments to make sure they fully understood them.

  “After Kiel Souiad disappeared,” Moon added, testing her recall.

  “Think she’s dead?”

  “The Republic seem to think so.”

  “So he jacks a ship then, from the timestamps on the files, does nothing for years and starts up again six months ago?”

  Moon lifted her eyebrows. “Doesn’t sound like the action of a sane man, does it?”

  “You think he’s psychologically unstable?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. He appears rational enough. So do the other two.” She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them and looked at him. “The truth is, I just don’t know what to think any more.”

  Yes, he could see that. And it was all because of him. By herself, Srin was sure Moon was capable enough to disappear into the galaxy’s background noise without much difficulty. He was the one holding her back, with his still uncured body and unhelpful response to the cocktail of drugs she had him on. And with his memory still badly fragmented, he couldn’t even draw on recent past experience to help them out.

  “I’ll go along with whatever you decide,”he told her quietly.

  She laughed. “As if I know what to do in this situation.”

  She moved over to where he sat on one of the lower bunks and gestured for him to move over.

  “I’m afraid that I’m too exhausted to think straight.”

  She sat down next to him and their thighs touched.

  “Ever since our time on the Differential, we’ve been on the edge – the edge of danger, of exhaustion, of ideas. We run and hide on Slater’s End, get smuggled to Lunar Fifteen, have to watch our backs with the Fodox Rebels, then land on a hell-hole called Marentim.”

  “The Open was rather beautiful, in a rugged, terrifying kind of way,” Srin remarked in an innocent tone, watching for a reaction.

  This time, the smile that curved Moon’s lips was natural. She looked so beautiful when she smiled, like a nova going off in a neighbouring system, dazzling and breathtaking. And it was the most natural thing in the world to take her into his arms and kiss those full dusky lips of hers.

  She tasted of heaven. How long had it been since he’d held her like this? There had been one wonderful night when they’d reached Marentim, a few stolen moments in one of Gauder’s tanks, and that glorious evening beneath the stars, but those were nothing compared to what Srin wanted to do with Moon. He wanted to spend hours lying beside her, watching her smooth skin flex and pebble as he blew across it. He wanted to plunge into her, feeling her encase him in primal heat and wetness. He wanted to feel her muscles tense and relax with her climax, her voice broken and breathy with passion.

  And he still couldn’t do it. Circumstances were like a chastity belt cinched tight around his groin. The next time he made love to Moon, he wanted it to be somewhere where they had both time and privacy. She deserved nothing less.

  Reluctantly, he got to his feet. “I suppose we should find out more about our guests,” he said.

  “Try to find them before they come for us?”

  “Might give us a little time to have a look around.”

  Moon nodded with appreciation. “Now that’s some good thinking.”

  They were both tired of having their actions dictated by others, Srin could see that. With a grin, he led the way to the door and down the short ladder to the ship’s main thoroughfare.

  In truth, he wasn’t feeling very well. Exhaustion dogged his limbs, sparking the temptation to do nothing but just lie on the metal grating of the floor and go to sleep. And he was starting to feel hot. Was it time for his hyperpyrexia medication? Already?

  He blinked and widened his eyes a couple of times, trying hard to focus on the environment.

  “Now I know what else struck me as odd,” he tried to keep his voice sounding normal, even a little bit casual. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”

  Faint memories surfaced in his mind – echoes of muted conversations and raucous male laughter, smooth curved walls covered with a rubbery substance, sitting in a cramped transport while he breathed in the sweat and odour of the men beside him. None of that was here in this wide antiseptic corridor of bulkheads and metal.

  “You’re right,” Moon’s voice sounded as if it was coming towards him through a pane of thick glass. He forced himself to pay attention. “I would have expected to see more people on a ship this size.”

  “A very mysterious man. I’m sure we have as many questions for him as he does for us.”

  They were closer to the front of the ship than the stern, so Srin suggested they begin walking back to the cargo bay, figuring they’d be certain to catch someone’s attention by then.

  He was right. When they were perhaps ten metres from their destination, the crewmember called Saff appeared. She seemed unsurprised to see them but, in the small experience he had of her, the aloofness on her face was her normal expression.

  “Please follow me,” she said. “Our canteen is this way.”

  Srin was relieved to leave the hospitality duties to someone else. The edges of his vision were beginning to waver, just as they did when he was about to be catapulted into a drug crash.

  Not now!

  He needed to stay awake, to find out what plans Quinten Tamlan had for him and Moon, but his body wasn’t in a cooperative mood.

  Reaching out and down with one hand, he let his fingers skim the walls, trying to give himself much-needed equilibrium. That helped a bit but the wavering got worse, morphing into streaks of light shooting past the periphery of his vision, with Saff’s lean figure the clear, distant target in the middle.

  This was worse than what he had suffered while travelling with Gauder. In addition to his deteriorating vision, his neck was getting hot, as if a microwave beam was aimed directly at the back of his skull. Moon’s voice became indistinct. Everything looked and sounded as if he’d just been plunged into an aquarium, but the collar of intense heat remained and he felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

  In the small circle of sight left to him, devoid of technicolour flashes, Srin saw a white-skinned hand beckon then move out of the way. All coherent sound disappeared, engulfed by a wave of white noise. In a way that made things easier because it was one thing less he needed to concentrate on. When the alien-looking hand moved away, Srin saw a table and chairs. They looked to be a hundred metres away but he knew they couldn’t be. It was his mind, playing tricks on him.

  All he needed to do was move forward. Move forward with a hand outstretched. Slide into the chair. Regroup his senses. Breathe.

  He took a step forward, tripped, and plunged headlong into the drug crash he’d been hoping to avoid.

  “Get me my satchel. Now!”

  Moon was in no mood to be polite. She didn’t care that
the people standing around her and Srin’s supine body had the power of life and death over them. Beneath her trembling hand, Srin’s forehead felt like an inferno, and she desperately hoped she wasn’t too late.

  “What happened?” That was Tamlan’s voice, behind her.

  “He collapsed.” The pale woman’s expressionless tone.

  “I want my satchel,” Moon ground out.

  “What’s in it?”

  Livid, Moon shot to her feet and spun around, looking up into Tamlan’s scarred face.

  “Only the medicine that can save his life,” she spat. “Look, I don’t care if you’re a pirate or a mercenary or someone who’s mentally unhinged and has managed to talk a few others into joining your mass delusion. What I need now is my satchel full of medication and your medical bay.” She looked around with wild eyes. “That is, if you have anything that civilised on this barren hulk.”

  She saw a hint of hesitation in his movements, quickly checked, and arrowed in on it. “You can shackle me, you can put me in a force-field, you can damn well stick me in a corner while I give you directions on what to do, but this man,” she pointed to Srin, “will die if I don’t act. Now.”

  Both humans locked gazes for long seconds.

  “Saff, bring him. You, follow me.”

  Moon would have breathed a sigh of relief but worry consumed her. Did they still have the medication? What shape was their medical bay in? What was she going to do if she couldn’t bring down Srin’s fever?

  The three of them – Srin cradled almost tenderly, as if he was a child in the woman’s arms – hurried back down the corridor, turning left into a long, narrow bay that, on the surface at least, appeared to be well-equipped.

  “We haven’t had much of a chance to inventory this place,” Tamlan said shortly.

  Moon frowned at him. Was that embarrassment she detected beneath the gruffness? And why should she care? Bustling forward, she stood impatiently beside one of the elevated bunk beds, watching as Srin was lowered carefully to the firm mattress.

  “Where’s my satchel?” she demanded, not willing to give an inch.