In Enemy Hands Page 5

  “And what makes you think I do?” she asked, slipping herself into the game.

  “The Republic wouldn’t have commandeered an entire ship if they thought you weren’t worth it.”

  “Maybe they’re misguided.”

  “Misguided? Maybe. But never stupid.”

  “No.” She thought back to Kad and his precipitous flight from the Centre. “You can never call them stupid.” She came back from that far-off memory and pinned him with a firm gaze. “And what about you? If the ability to do four-dimensional maths in your head is not an indication of intelligence, what is?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t intelligent. Just that I don’t think I’m as smart as you.”

  “You’re trying to flatter me,” she accused.

  “Absolutely. Is it working?”

  Moon had to laugh at that. She couldn’t help herself.

  “No wonder you need someone like Dr. Savic around,” she remarked. “I can’t imagine the trouble you’d get into otherwise.”

  “That’s strange,” he said, rising to his feet. He extended his hand and she took it, placing her fingers in his open palm, as though they were at a formal reception instead of a deserted science lab. “That’s exactly what Hen says,” he told her.

  She stood and met his appreciative gaze, just centimetres away.

  Moon felt the breath catch in her throat. Something she thought dormant flared into life, fluttering through her belly. She thought—hoped?—he would kiss her, and tamped down a stab of disappointment when he turned and guided her to the circular porthole against the external wall. Moon knew why there were so few portholes on spaceships. She could talk knowledgeably, but not in too much detail, of the stresses on the window inserts, especially during hyperjumps. She could outline the risk of failure during such jumps and explain the sometimes tragic consequences on ships and passengers. But it wasn’t until Srin’s warm hand guided her to one that she realised how romantic a window to the galaxy really was.

  He was content to keep quiet, and she allowed the silence of the room to wash over her, giving rein to less scientific thoughts. When she looked at stars, she usually analysed them in terms of size, composition, age and probable fate. Accompanied by fellow researchers’ talk, she saw the giant globes of gas as little more than spheres of high-pressure thermonuclear explosions, immense puzzles to be decoded and unlocked. But in the current silence, through the thick transparency of the window, all she could think was how beautiful space was, the blackness punctuated by sharp points of faraway light. On a planet, starscapes were removed from the viewer, with slices of atmospheric interference or dancing electrons interfering with the vision. But out here…

  She breathed in and let her breath out slowly. Was she really trying to re-ignite one of those radiation-rich interstellar behemoths? And was her confidence in what she was doing a measure of her skill, or was it arrogance?

  “I feel so small,” she finally said.

  “I was wondering what it would take to bring you down to the level of us humans.”

  She turned to look at him sharply.

  “Dr. Moon Thadin,” he said, standing so close she could feel the brush of his shirt against hers. “Famous scientist. Groundbreaking researcher. Even Hen’s impressed with your record. And Hen isn’t someone who’s easily impressed.”

  “What about you?” Her voice was suddenly hoarse. “Are you impressed?”

  “By your mind? How could I not be? By you? Well, let’s just say, Dr. Thadin, you continue to surprise me. And most delightfully.”

  He bent his head to kiss her. She was expecting it, but expected their first embrace to be fleeting and soft, a meeting then release. It was only as his kiss deepened that she knew she had underestimated him again.

  Srin Flerovs wanted Moon Thadin, and he wasn’t ashamed to show it. With surprisingly strong hands, he pulled her against him. She felt his arousal against her groin and gasped. He used it as an invitation to explore her mouth more thoroughly, running his tongue along the edge of her teeth, and then seeking out her own tongue to tangle with.

  She shouldn’t be doing this. She only agreed to have dinner with Srin for professional reasons. What would Drue Jeen say if he happened upon such behaviour? What would Hen Savic say? She was a scientist. A thinker.

  A woman.

  With a groan, Moon lifted her arms, shaking off Srin’s grip, grasping his head between her fingers.

  It had been so long and she didn’t know how much she had missed the feel of someone else’s flesh against hers until Srin’s lips touched her own. His skin was hot against hers, his mouth moist and welcoming, hard where her fingers met bone and her tongue met jaw, soft against the flesh of his cheeks and the answering probe of his own tongue.

  She thought she was beyond this, cleansed of any desire, stripped of everything except her brain and her utility and duty to the Republic that had finally released her. But the feel of Srin against her, his chest brushing against her breasts, his thighs, strong and firm against hers, resurrected buried and primal longings.

  She heard a moan—was that muffled voice hers?—but didn’t stop. How had she ever thought she could bury such intense feelings? She was no virgin; she knew the pleasure in feeling another’s hands against her skin. How stupid was she to imagine she could forgo such sensual touch for the rest of her life?

  Srin’s fingers were skimming her back, dipping down the curve of her back to cup her buttocks, sending dozens of tiny shivers through her body. Her nipples were already hard from his touch.

  Moon wanted his deceptive assertiveness, wanted to explore the hardness of a body that she could feel through her own, and surrender to whatever he wanted to do to her. She was sick of thinking. All she had done for the past three years was think. She held intellectual achievement up as the only goal left in her now solitary life. The trembling touch of Srin reminded her that she had needs beyond the merely cognitive, if only she could bear to be reminded of them.

  Eventually, he tore himself away, his breathing ragged and uneven. The intensity in his pale eyes not only warmed her but set her on fire.

  “I’ve always thought life is too short,” he said in a half whisper. “You’ve got to grab happiness whenever you can.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?”

  He stepped away, slow and reluctant. “It’s what I’d like to do.”

  “With me?”

  “With you.”

  She hesitated, on the brink of making a choice regarding a question she had never even considered before. The specifics of the equipment surrounding them faded into the background, only their blinking lights visible. Moon imagined herself away from the ship, just the two of them on a planet somewhere, civilised life—for the moment—far behind them. But, was that image alone enough?

  “It doesn’t have to be now,” he said into the faltering silence, kissing her forehead. “How long do you think your experiments will take?”

  The heat from his breath against her skin made it hard for Moon to concentrate. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of his face, so close to hers, but the scent from his body still teased her senses. “Well, we need to get to the Suzuki Mass. That will probably take six or eight weeks.” She opened her eyes. “Then several weeks for experiments. And then we have to get back.”

  “So you’re saying perhaps six months.”

  Yes, that sounded about right. Moon nodded.

  “A lifetime,” he murmured.

  Moon smiled and dropped her head on his chest.

  Yes. They had plenty of time. There was no need to rush.

  The wonder of it was, she didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.

  Moon tripped around the space of her quarters, humming under her breath. After she and Srin parted the previous night, she sat at her private console, reviewing her working equations. Despite the small intimacies she had shared with him—or perhaps because of them?—the numbers and symbols on the screen seemed sharper than normal, her own thinking
more acute. It took an effort to lie in bed and close her eyes. She felt as though she had been jolted by electricity, her body alert and humming.

  And the sensation didn’t diminish when she woke up the next morning, her vestige of anxiety dissolved on the slumberous night air. What was there to feel guilty about? She was a civilian and so was Srin. And they were both consenting adults. It made her lips quirk to think that there wasn’t a thing anybody could do about the situation. She could, for once, thumb her nose at the all-powerful Republic, knowing both she and Srin were too valuable to remove from the project. Remove? Without them, there was no project!

  Of course she wasn’t about to create romantic fantasies out of nothing. Moon always considered herself a practical person. But she was free to explore her dormant sexuality with someone she found attractive. Someone who appealed to both her mind and body. When was the last time she had felt like that?

  Washing and dressing quickly, she decided to skip breakfast and opt for an early start on the day. With any luck, Srin would be feeling the same way. Perhaps, between them, they could iron out some small discrepancies in her formulae, then break for an early lunch.

  The lab looked the same as it did the previous day. It was only Moon’s imagination that made it seem different. She was much happier about the empty space that should have been occupied by a high-powered computer. Who would have thought the substitute would have been so much more interesting than the original?

  Not willing to appear overeager, Moon finally unpacked her data files, transferring her private research logs to the library unit and setting up the daemon to link her findings to the general knowledge base. That process would take at least an hour, she knew. Her notes were extensive.

  She set up her major equations on the giant clearboard in the middle of the room and was eyeing each mathematical phrase pensively when she heard a movement behind her. Turning, she saw Srin and Hen Savic enter. She couldn’t stop the wide smile that stretched her lips.

  “Srin,” she said, laughter in her tone. “You’re just in time. I want to run some basic computations past you.” She knew she was rushing him, speaking in an enthused staccato, but couldn’t help herself. She was full of energy, and didn’t care if the universe knew it. “I have the feeling I need to modify LeCoeur’s Constant regarding the behaviour of gravity waves in compressed environments. Those are compressed stellar-based fusion environments, of course. We have to start formulating the influence of electromagnetism, radiation and temperature, so we have a lot of work to start today.”

  She was looking at him, searching his face for every nuance of expression, trying to send him her own message.

  Yes, I’m ready. Yes, let’s explore what we have. Yes.

  So she was a little surprised, but not unduly so, by the flicker of incomprehension that flitted across his face.

  He might not know about LeCoeur’s Constant, she told herself. Not that it was such an issue. It was easy enough to remedy, especially with someone of his obvious intelligence.

  But the puzzlement continued, deepened. She began to feel the first stirrings of unease. It blossomed into full-scale panic at his next words.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, in that preternaturally calm voice, “and please excuse my rudeness, but…do I know you?”

  Chapter Four

  “Do you…?”

  There was a pounding in Moon’s head as she gazed in disbelief at Srin, standing there with the same nonchalant attitude she’d seen the previous day. Before their dinner. Before their kiss. Could he really have forgotten what happened? Forgotten her? She felt the blood drain from her face.

  What was going on?

  Savic walked forward briskly and stood in front of her, blocking her view with his bulk.

  “Perhaps I can discuss something with you, Dr. Thadin.” His voice was measured but there was a steely insistence underlying his characteristic rumble.

  Moon frowned. “I don’t—”

  “I really think it’s necessary,” he cut in.

  She looked up and saw the determination on his face. Part of her wanted to stand her ground and bully her way through the confusion she felt. But another part wanted a quick answer as to what was going on. Judging by the fierce and intense expression on his face, Savic was going to be the best way to get it.

  But, she told him with her own gaze, she was not going to put up with any prevarication. After the previous evening, both her intellect and her ego deserved better. She nodded—a quick curt movement of her head—and his shoulders relaxed. He turned to Srin, still blocking Moon from view.

  “Srin, perhaps you could look over a brief I’ve prepared on the equipment in this lab.” Moon had to admit he hit just the right note in his tone of voice. Friendliness, combined with brisk professionalism.

  “What about…?” She could only guess from Srin’s words that he made some kind of movement towards her. Once again, she was being shielded from what was going on. Was it because she was a woman? The thought set her temper simmering.

  “I’ll talk to Dr. Thadin now and get everything sorted out. The brief is in the library meta-unit.”

  There was a charged silence before Srin conceded. “All right.” His face bore an unusually grim expression. Moon knew from his tone that he would be taking the matter up with his “handler” at some point in the future.

  At that point Savic put a hand around her upper arm and whisked her out of the lab.

  Savic released her just as they cleared the doorway, but said nothing as he strode down the Differential’s corridors. Moon was almost gasping for breath, half running to keep up with his long legged stride, by the time they reached an anonymous door that opened into a small briefing room. Despite taking a gulp to steady her breathing, she didn’t wait for a comment or remark to open the discussion, but launched into it herself.

  “What the hell’s going on?” she demanded, as the door shut behind them.

  “I apologise, Dr. Thadin. I meant to explain the situation to you over breakfast this morning, but you didn’t appear in any of the canteens, and Srin was eager to begin work himself.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “There’s something wrong with him, isn’t there?” Her heart dropped at the words, but she forced herself to say them calmly and dispassionately.

  “Only if you describe genius as wrong.” He took a seat and gestured to another low chair on the opposite side of the table. “Please, sit down.”

  “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.” But she did place a hand on the back of the chair in front of her, unsure of whether she was using it as a shield or support.

  “Very well.” He looked at the wall, but his gaze was focused far beyond that. Moon was used to that look, an indication that someone was putting his or her thoughts into order. She was content to wait, deliberately clearing her own mind so she wouldn’t jump to any erroneous conclusions.

  After a heavy silence, Savic pulled a deep breath into his lungs and let it out on a long exhale.

  “Srin is unique,” he said. “The Republic has come across brilliant people before, but none who have been so easy to work with, especially considering their intellectual gifts. We discovered his talent almost twenty years ago and he’s been working for us ever since.”

  “His mathematical talent, you mean.”

  “Mathematical talent, processing power, perfect photographic memory, combined with unprecedented social skills, empathy. Srin’s got it all.”

  Each word stung Moon as if it were physical, the barbs digging into her skin.

  “If he has a perfect photographic memory,” she asked quietly, “why can’t he remember me?”

  Savic changed position and pursed his lips. “Srin’s home world is Tonia III. He was a scientist himself, and did great work for the Republic while he was there. The Science Directorate, however, decided that he would be more productive if he moved closer to the centres of research within the Republic. When we first relocated Srin to the Science Hub at Tor Prime, he was very
cooperative. At that time, we were only up to the Mark Two Quantaflex and, in comparison, his speed at calculating was?” Savic shook his head. “It was phenomenal, unbelievable. However, as we neared the end of the third year, he started getting dissatisfied with the work and the environment in general.”

  “You knew him back then?”

  “I was a researcher in xeno-neurobiology at the time. I was one of the very first scientists assigned to work with him.” There was a touch of pride in Savic’s voice.

  Moon frowned. “So what happened? Did he get bored with what you were trying to do? Did he want to go back to his home-planet of Tonia III?”

  “He didn’t understand the enormity of what we were doing.” Savic emphasised each word with a stress of his voice, looking annoyed. “We had projects lined up for years. Research he could have fast-tracked by years, decades, with only the slightest of efforts. We thought we were giving him everything he wanted, including the kind of challenges he would never have encountered in the backwaters of Tonia. But he still wasn’t satisfied. We wanted him to stay, but he wanted to leave. It didn’t matter what I tried,” Savic said, as an aside, “nothing seemed to change his mind. But the Science Directorate made their decision. Considering his importance and abilities, we needed—had to have—him cooperative and loyal to the Republic.”

  Moon wondered whether the dawning horror in her mind was mirrored by the expression on her face. The lack of memory, his sense of calm, his unflappability—all of it could be explained by major surgical intervention. She could imagine it only too easily in her imagination, Srin’s muscular body laid out on an operating table, his head clamped, while surgeons manipulated his neurology with laser-scalpels and clamps within a glowing sterile field. Which neural links had they cut to create a compliant Srin? Did they even know what they were doing?