Bloodthirst (13 page)

And then, after he had lost all track of the time, over the sound of the qefla's pawing came a low hum, followed by a click. It was the sound of a force field being turned off.

They were coming for him.

Adams' heart pounded. Fear brought with it strength.

He had only a few seconds to cause a distraction. He pulled the tube from his arm, ignoring the droplets of blood rilling on his skin, and darted to the animal's cage.

There was a use for the Rigellian rat after all.

A man's form was passing through the second entryway into the room by the time Adams pushed the button that released the electromagnetic field around the qefla's cage.

A round, writhing disk of fur, the animal scrambled onto the floor, scratching Adams with its long claws in its desperation to be free. He scarcely felt it. He gave the qefla a push so that it skittered toward the man, and he dropped to the floor himself and rolled under the bed. It wasn't a particularly good hiding place and he would be spotted soon, but it would win him a few seconds.

The man had made it through the entryway and was followed by a female. Both wore Starfleet uniforms and visors beneath glowing field suits. Both carried phasers in their hands.

Mendez's people, no question about it.

The man surveyed the room. From where he stood, he didn't see Adams crouching under the bed. “What the” As the woman came through, he turned to her. “He's escaped.”

“That's not possible,” she said. “It's a trick.”

At that, they both turned and moved toward the bed. The qefla had joined Adams there, attempting to burrow beneath him. Adams gave the animal a pinch and a firm push, and sent it squealing toward the guards.

It skittered into the man, who dropped his phaser and scrabbled after the animal on his knees. The woman had knelt down with her phaser drawn and was a second away from seeing him, but could not resist turning her head first to watch the man. Adams only had to reach out to grab the wrist that held the phaser.

He fired it before she had a chance to cry out. For one beautiful, brilliant instant, she lit up the room, and then faded to nothingness. Adams turned pain-dazzled eyes to the man, who had dropped the struggling animal and was scrabbling for his phaser on the floor. Adams fired again, this time remembering to close his eyes first. Even so, he could see the blast through closed eyelids.

It had all taken only seconds.

He felt no remorse over their deaths. If anything, he felt triumphant and vindicated: they
had
been sent by Mendez to kill him. Why else had the woman's phaser been set on kill, and not stun?

His next concern as he passed through the doorway was light; if the corridor was still lit, he at least had to try. Better to die writhing in the halls of star base than at Mendez's hands. He grasped his amulet and stepped out of the room. To his relief, it was soothingly dark. They had planned to take him somewhere else to kill him.

Up to this point, he had not considered where escape might take him. He feared the brightness of daytime on star base. If he stayed, Mendez would search every corner until he was found.

What he needed was a starship.

Lisa Nguyen sat in a tourist bar on Star Base Nine, wishing she were anywhere else. Not that it was bad for a tourist bar, actually; she almost suspected it of being a local hangout. It was quieter and darker than usual, less crowded, and the furniture was new and kept clean. It lacked that musty, slightly unsavory aroma that seemed to cling to heavily populated bars. In fact, it was probably one of the nicest base bars she'd ever been in. But she was far from having fun.

She stared down once again at the painting propped against the wall near her chair. It was a scene of wild horses in the desert, rearing up against a sunset of iridescent purple and blazing orange gold. Normally, she would never have given in to impulse buying, especially not from anyone as disreputable as a star base street vendor, but the painting seemed to her to be a sign. Her purchase had caused some dissension; Lamia insisted the creatures were too delicate and spindly to be Terran, while Stanger took Lisa's part and said it was merely a stylized representation. The vendor was of no help in settling the argument; he barely spoke enough Standard to negotiate the cost.

She looked up at Stanger and Lamia, who sat across from her at the tiny round table, getting drunk. In the middle of the table were three shot glasses, each one filled with a slightly different shade of amber liquid. Stanger was expounding on each type of liquor with the earnestness of a lecturer, and Lamia was listening raptly, her cheeks flushed a bright shade of blue, her eyelids open a millimeter less than normal. She was already fairly drunk, not a particularly difficult accomplishment for an Andorian. She had only had three tiny swallows of alcohol, though if she slouched any lower over the glasses, she would have to worry about the effect of the fumes. With each sip, she leaned a little closer to Stanger.

Nguyen sat back in her chair, holding a glass of local juice whose name she had already forgotten. She didn't care for it, but the effort to send it back seemed too great tonight. Everything seemed too much of an effort. She would have refused shore leave if Stanger hadn't begged her to come along. She got the impression he wanted a buffer zone between him and the Andorian; now, at the sight of the two of them together, she decided that what he'd really wanted was a chaperone.

Can't the man make up his mind? One minute he acts like he wants to kill her, the next he acts like he's getting ready to ask for her cabin door code.

The change in Stanger and Lamia's relationship was hardly what she'd expected, after that incident in the rec lounge. Mutual throttling would have made more sense than their sudden peace treaty. But whatever Stanger had said to Lamia the night she heard from home had made a difference. Not only did Lamia have a newfound respect for him, she also seemed to have taken her
Tijra's
message extremely well. Deep down, Nguyen disapproved of Lamia's rapid emotional recovery. Lisa had never had a family, had spent her childhood shuttled from one distant relative to the next. It was one reason she found it important to make friends, and it made it impossible for her to think of anyone cavalierly giving up an immediate family of almost fifty members.

No matter how long Lisa had known Lamia, she was always amazed at the sudden swings of the Andorian's emotions. One moment intensely depressed, the next, cheerful; one moment ready to disembowel Stanger, the next, sitting beside him in a bar taking an alcohol appreciation course.

“Now this,” Stanger said earnestly, pointing to the glass in the middle, “is sour mash. Take a small sip and see how it compares to the bourbon.” He had had two drinks before launching the Great Taste Experiment and was not at all drunk, although Nguyen thought his eyes glistened a little more brightly than usual.

Lamia complied, blue cheeks pulsing as she swished it around her gums. She swallowed and gasped, sending a blast of whiskeyed breath in Nguyen's direction. Her eyes grew even rounder.

“I like it. There's a sort of sweetness to it, and it's smoother”

Obviously pleased at her answer, Stanger showed a flash of teeth under his mustache. “Better than the bourbon, isn't it?”

“I think so.” One of Lamia's antennae suddenly drooped at a cock-eyed angle to the other one.

Nguyen had trouble keeping her eyes off it. “I don't think you ought to swish it around your gums like that.”

“Why not?” Lamia's tone was a little belligerent, but Nguyen took no offense. She was used to Lamia's moodiness by now.

“Your gums are permeable and let it pass through into the bloodstream faster. You don't want to get sick.”

Stanger smirked. “Come on. You're making that up. I never heard”

“I'm not going to get sick,” Lamia said with swaying haughtiness. “Besides, if I do, I can always get a pill from sickbay.”

“She's right, Lamia,” Stanger chided with good humor. He alone had changed his uniform for civilian clothing before beaming down for six hours' liberty. Nguyen hadn't understood why anyone would take the time, until she thought about it from Stanger's point of view. He had put on a tight-fitting tunic that showed off the muscles in his arms and chest. Nguyen thought chastely of Rajiv and did her best not to notice. “We don't want you losing dinner right when we're all beaming up. I think I'll let you stand next to Lisa.”

“What a disgusting thought,” Lamia said unsteadily, but she giggled. “Okay, what's this last one?” She indicated the third glass.

“This really
is
the last one. Maybe you should skip it,” Stanger said thoughtfully. “It's a blend. To my taste, the most inferior of the three. I should have had you try it first.”

“I
want
to taste it. Here.” Lamia picked the glass up and swallowed before anyone could stop her.

“That was a big sip,” Nguyen said.

“But I didn't swish it around this time.”

“Good for you.” Stanger pushed the glasses toward Nguyen. “Go on, Lisa, why don't you give them a try? You seem like you could use a little cheering up. You've been awfully quiet.”

She had hoped they wouldn't notice. Lamia was certainly too drunk to, but Lisa hadn't been able to fool Stanger. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about it. She searched for a believable lie.

“I really don't care for whiskey, thanks.” Nguyen forced a credible smile. “I guess I
am
a little down. It's been a long time since I had the chance for shore leave, and I was really looking forward to a blue, sunny sky”

“The sky's blue here?” Lamia wondered. “How very
odd
.”

“Whatever. I was in the mood to stroll through a big, grassy field, maybe even find out how to get a soccer game together. I just wanted to feel sun on my face.”

Stanger had thrown back the shot of bourbon and was fingering the sour mash. His face had that expression of attentive concern found on those just beginning to get tipsy. “You can do that on the ship.”

“I mean
real
sun.
I
know it's supposed to be exactly the same, but I can tell it's not the real thing. I guess it's psychological.”

“Well, that's too bad.” Stanger put the glass of sour mash to his lips and drained it with a sharp flick of his wrist before setting it down on the table. “Tell you what, let's all go someplace fun. Like dancing. How would you ladies like to go dancing? I think Lamia needs to work the alcohol through her system.”

Lamia smiled at no one in particular and hiccupped silently.

“I tell you what.” Nguyen still wore the false smile. “Why don't you go ahead and take Lamia? I think I'll take a walk. Maybe the sun's not out, but there's one hell of a moon. I bet I could even find some trees.”

“We'll go with you,” Lamia said unevenly. “Besides, I don't know how to dance.” She leaned right up against Stanger, who smiled as if the contact made him pleased and uncomfortable at the same time.

“Yeah,” he added. “A walk would be really nice. Besides, you don't want to go alone. What if you run into some unsavory, drunken types?” He looked at the Andorian. “Present company excluded.”

But Lisa was too upset to worry about Stanger's problems tonight. “I have this.” She patted the phaser on her uniform belt. “And actually I
do
want to go alone. If you don't mind.”

“Oh.” Stanger drew back as if slightly embarrassed. “No problem. If you'd rather be by yourself” He nodded at the painting. “Leave that with us. We'll take care of it for you.”

“That's all right,” she said quickly, tucking it under her arm. It wasn't all that awkward, a half meter wide by a half meter long. And besides, in their current condition, she didn't trust them to remember it. “It's fine, see?”

“Suit yourself.” Stanger shrugged and turned to Lamia. “You can learn to dance. After all, you didn't know anything about whiskey before tonight, but you learned, didn't you?”

The dawn of revelation lit up Lamia's face. “I suppose I did.” She rose from her chair. Stanger put out a hand to steady her. “Let me pay for this, my friends. I insist.”

“Of course,” he soothed, winking at Nguyen, who understood from the gesture that he would take care of the bill and debts would be settled later. “We all appreciate that. I'll go tell them. Lisa, go on if you like. We'll catch up with you later.”

Nguyen left. As she stepped outside, she could hear Lamia inside.

“What's eating her?”

* * *

Caught in the transporter beam, Adams was suddenly struck with terror. He was escaping one evil only to fall into the grasp of another. What if he beamed into an open field with the sun beating down on him, searing his skin until his body was one great oozing sore? With no one to help him, he would die in agony. He was no longer certain that anything was preferable to a quick death at the hands of Mendez's men.

At the moment of materialization, he felt disoriented. Something was wrong; choosing random coordinates had backfired. Something cold and wet swirled around his legs. He was not on solid land.

Eyes squeezed shut, he had steeled himself against the pain he knew would come the moment light touched his eyes and skin. But the pain was not at all what he expected—more like mild irritation than agony. Cautiously, Adams opened one eye.

There was a short dazzle of discomfort as his eyes adjusted, but again, nothing like what he had expected. He looked down at the water coursing around his legs.

He was standing hip-deep in a fountain in the middle of a park. Above, the sky was dark and starry, lit feebly by a thin slice of moon.

Adams threw back his head and laughed. Half a meter to the right, and he would have appeared in the middle of the spray that jetted up from the fountain's center. The amulet was protecting him so far. He sloshed carefully to the edge, mindful of the slippery stone floor, and crawled over the railing onto grassy turf. His skin felt less irritated; the water was illumined with a faint blue light.