In Enemy Hands (18 page)

What a lie.
Every
single centimetre of her skin was sensitive to his touch. Her shuddering was proof of that.

Down to her abdomen. He licked the flesh with broad strokes of his tongue, tensing it to a point at a spot just above her groin, then relaxing as he moved upwards again. He was giving her a taste of what he intended to do farther down, and the thought drove her crazy. Her fingers dug into his scalp, shamelessly pushing him towards her thighs, silently begging for release. It had been too long. She craved the mindlessness that came from a sexual climax.

Srin obliged.

He slid his arms out from under her back and repositioned them between her legs, under her backside so her pelvis was elevated and open to him.

“You smell intoxicating,” he told her quietly. And, before the glimmer of a response could form in her mind, he feasted on her.

Moon didn’t know if the wetness was his or her own—or his warm saliva mixing with her juices. After a moment, it ceased to matter. He licked at her with broad strokes, then narrow pointed ones and her clitoris engorged until it was one slick, quivering nub. She knew she was erect because she felt herself hard and sensitive against his lips as he mouthed her, pulling at her with tightly drawn lips, then releasing her. He followed up with those lascivious strokes down to her sex, drawing up more moisture, more musk, so she could smell herself on the still air in the semi-darkness.

What did she want? Release or penetration? Both. She wanted both, frantically, desperately. She tried pulling Srin back up towards her face—the thought of licking herself off his cheeks and lips was electrifying—but he wouldn’t oblige. His tongue became more insistent. He moved one arm away and pried open her outer lips with his fingers, falling on her swollenness.

And she was lost. It seemed like mere seconds before the first curls of orgasm coiled in her belly. She pushed herself against him insistently, unwilling to let the build-up fail or slip away. Then it hit her. Moon convulsed in his grip, her fingernails digging into his scalp as she cried out to the ceiling, a short, shocked scream signalling her climax.

Again, he moved swiftly. He kept up the pressure until more waves rocked her body, then quickly covered her length with his, unerringly finding her wet and slippery cleft, and entering her. Moon tightened her muscles against him, an instinctual reflex, as he began his own rhythm, pushing into her with small, muted groans. The sound of Srin’s voice, the lack of control in someone who insisted on it, aroused Moon and she wrapped her legs around him, pushing against each one of his strokes with a thrust of her pelvis. She wrapped her hands around his muscled neck, now taut and sleek with perspiration, and kissed him passionately.

There was a lull of a split-second, then he pumped into her and she felt the spasms of his cock. She milked him, tensing her muscles, coaxing more convulsions from him until, with a tired moan, he collapsed against her. Then he rolled, bringing her up on top of him at the very edge of the bed.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said raggedly, brushing back the hair from her face, “but, unfortunately, I don’t regret it.”

“I try never to regret a good bout of sex. And this was a
good
bout of sex.”

“It was a bit quick.” In the dim light, she could see the relief lines of a frown on his forehead.

“Considering what we’ve both been through,” she said, kissing his nose, “I think I can forgive us.”

He seemed satisfied by her explanation because his face cleared. “Care for something to soothe your throat?”

“The Delfin whisky?”

He nodded. “We drank the first glass a little…hurriedly.”

“I agree. Let’s have a rematch.”

And Srin didn’t have to see her face to know that her eyes were twinkling.

If the first time was a bit rushed for Srin’s liking, he regained his honour the second time. He and Moon giggled like teenagers as one athletic move landed them on the floor with a muted thump. But all that did was open up a new playspace, one he was quick to take full advantage of.

Determined to enjoy the rare experience of a living, breathing Moon in his arms—his fantasy made flesh—he tried for variety and staying power this time. He had her bent over the bed, her legs straight, the vee pointing straight to the target. She had him on the floor, riding him hard, while he ignored the carpet burn against his shoulder blades. He sat her on the shelf and entered her while she leaned back with her long legs wrapped around him. He thought a particular part of his anatomy might be sore by the time morning came around, but he didn’t care. With feelings this intense, there must be some way to keep hold of them, so a future “him” could enjoy the memories, and add them to the stolen store that he hadn’t even admitted to Moon he still retained. He was afraid that if he mentioned his anomalous slice of memory to anyone, it would somehow disappear. His images from those few days were too precious to be frittered away by one indiscreet disclosure. So he held her and stroked her, kissed her and nibbled, licked and sucked her and hoped that—through some mental alchemy—these memories could somehow join to the ones he already had.

Eventually, exhausted, they both toppled onto the bed. The chrono said it was early morning. He saw Moon look at the blinking digits and drop her head on the mattress with a sigh.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. She still smelt fresh and enticing, even after an extended period of strenuous, yet pleasurable, activity.

She moved away so she could turn and look at him. “Regrets?”

His smile was wry. “I wanted you to start bright and fresh in the morning. I think I just wrecked my own plan.”

“I think I needed wrecking.” She yawned and leisurely rolled off the bed and Srin curled his hand into a fist to stop himself from catching her hand and pulling her back. “I think I need to go. I’m sure someone’s noticed us together, but it would be better if we didn’t make it so obvious.”

Of course she made sense. With sad, alert eyes, he watched her hunt around for her clothes and get dressed, willing his neurons to burn the images in his long-term memory storage.

“I’ll see you. In the morning?” She made it a slight question. Like he had any other place to go, any other place he wanted to be.

He stifled a yawn. “Bright and early. Although I might give the workout a miss today.”

Her smile faltered for a second, then she pulled on her shoes and left. Her presence, though, was still stamped on the room, on every wall and the curved ceiling above him.

Was this love? Oh, he didn’t know what love was anymore. Not love, not life. A part of him felt that he was betraying Yolana, the woman he had wanted so badly to make his wife. He knew years had passed since that time but, to his damaged brain, it was only a few months ago. And here he was, like a randy rabbit, ready to jump into bed with the first super-intelligent, coolly fascinating, strangely vulnerable female scientist he met.

Or was she? Srin sat up and banged the heels of his hands against his forehead. No matter that he tried to set up little scratchings for himself in every place he’d been to, it had been too difficult. How many times had he missed an entry, relocating on the cusp of his first and second day selves? He had no way of knowing.

He went to the shelf and retrieved the sharpened piece of cutlery from where he had wedged it in place then, still naked, he lay on his back under the sink cabinet’s kickboard, ignoring the friction burns on his back. His sensitive fingers traced the small hieroglyphics, confirming what he suspected a previous “him” had done. The first scratch—
Reva II
—was now crowded by other information, just as brief and almost as cryptic. It usually took him a good thirty minutes nowadays to figure out what it all meant, to bring himself up to speed on the pivotal events that had been going on.

A previous “him” told him not to have sex with Moon Thadin. The icon next to this had shown a popular graphic from his young years, one representing sadness and frustration. Whether this meant Moon would be sad or frustrated, or himself, he couldn’t say. At the moment, he was feeling pretty happy and there was little that could prick his bubble of happiness.

He scratched out the symbol and changed the warning to a cipher for happiness. That should be enough to tell the next Srin that he had disregarded the advice and that Moon could be trusted.

You don’t need to do this. You already know you’ve made love to Moon. Those memories are set in your brain.

But the problem was, there was no guarantee of that. Just knowing that he had been living a two-day life for almost two decades was enough to make Srin doubt the permanence of what he could still recall. He sighed. Despite the euphoria from discovering a recent slice of memory, he was swamped with fear. This was no time to assume that he could count on those forbidden recollections, not when he had finally discovered an ally. But would she still consider herself an ally of his once she knew what he’d done?

At that point, he knew he should have crawled away, got to his feet, hugged his contentment to himself and grabbed some sleep. But he couldn’t. His fingers wouldn’t let him. They traced another small line of encrypted text in the back corner, next to the cabinet board, farthest away from the light. He knew the words and their meaning by heart, but he still traced the letters’ strokes and curves.

He had done what was necessary, he told himself, for the benefit of the galaxy. He knew the galaxy wouldn’t know. He knew he might die for it. But at least he’d go down in one final burst of defiance. He just hoped Moon understood.

If she was a man, Moon supposed she would have been whistling by now. Maybe there was some advantage to having a subtly different Srin every two days, she thought frivolously. That way, if she lost an argument with one, she could always try again with another.

It was a silly, trivial way of looking at things, but she couldn’t help herself. She was only human after all, and the past few hours had made her very happy indeed.

When she reached the lab, she was surprised to see the lights still on. Normally the entire workspace was dark, unless she specifically requested illumination. She frowned, then saw a figure unfold from one of the chairs next to the lunch table. All of a sudden, Moon was aware of how dishevelled she looked, but willed herself not to lift a self-conscious hand to her hair. There was no crime in what she had done—in fact, it felt fantastic, and she was eager to repeat the experience as soon as possible. Her head jerked up in defiance.

But there was nothing but worry on Drue’s face as he approached her. No accusations or even a slow review of her crumpled self from head to toe. He didn’t admonish her for however long he had been waiting. Moon stifled a sudden feeling of guilt and looked at him calmly.

“Yes, Drue? Can I help you with something?”

“Space Fleet sent their response,” he said simply.

She raised her eyebrows. This was what they’d been waiting for. Her euphoria evaporated in an instant, scared away as much by the stony expression on Drue’s face as by her own fears. She swallowed and waited for his words.

“They’re not satisfied with the results,” he told her. “They’re sending an investigator to the
Differential
. Her name is Consul Rosca Moises.”

“Consul?” She frowned. “I’ve never heard of a Space Fleet consul before.”

“Most people haven’t. If they’re lucky.” His voice was as grim as his words. “She has the power of life and death, Moon. Over me, over everyone on this ship. Whatever she orders me to do, I have to do.”

“And what do you think she’ll order you to do?” Moon asked softly, afraid that she already knew the answer.

“The communication I received implied that failure is not an option. I’m supposed to help Consul Moises facilitate a successful result as quickly as possible.”

“And if you don’t?”

Drue shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

She wanted some sleep, yearned for it, but this was too important a discussion to delay. She knew Drue well enough by now to know when he wanted to talk, and this was an ideal time. Most of the crew were asleep and the rest busy at their stations. For both of them, the early morning was the best time to discuss weighty and confidential matters. Moon led him back to the table and waved to a chair, seating herself opposite.

“What exactly is a consul?” she asked.

He was happy to explain. She could tell he wanted her to understand exactly who they were and what they were capable of. “They are independent investigators, answerable only to the highest levels of the Republic. They
represent
the Republic, and nothing is off limits to them in an investigation. If you or I don’t cooperate with them,” he added, “we could find ourselves on a one-way trip to Bliss. I know of others who’ve suffered such a fate.”

Moon felt a chill brush her arms. Not even a detention centre or jail, but straight to Bliss? That was the Republic’s hellhole prison planet, an arid globe full of deserts, heat and criminals. Moon had read enough about it to convince her that no sane person would ever willingly put themselves in a position to be sent there. Nobody sent to Bliss left it. Not them, not their descendants. Not ever.

“Are you telling the truth?” Drue asked, searching her eyes. “Was the failure an accident?”

Moon was shocked into full wakefulness, from his question as well as the threat now hanging over her. “I didn’t lie, Drue. I believe in this project as much as I say I do.”

He ran a distracted hand through his short blond hair. “Of course you do.”

She looked at him closely. “As captain of the ship I’m working on, your reputation’s at stake as well, isn’t it?”

He shot her a brief, humourless smile. “Let’s just say it doesn’t look good on my record having a consul visit my ship, regardless of the reason. According to some people, my career is over before she even steps aboard.”

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded so inadequate, but they were all she had.

Drue shrugged. “All we can do now is hold on. And hope this review of yours turns up the problem.”

The review still had a handful more of weeks to run, which was less than the time required to travel from the centre of the Republic out to the Suzuki Mass. Moon wondered if she could find her mistakes before the consul’s arrival. That would certainly short circuit the effect of any implied menace. She started feeling a bit hopeful.

“When is the consul due?”

“The day after tomorrow. She’s coming by SFT.”

And if Moon still had some doubt about the importance of a consul, it was answered for her in those three letters.

SFT. Super Fast Transport.

Even StellMil, as important as it supposedly was, didn’t warrant that kind of speed. The technology behind SFT used three times the hyperspace displacement energy normally required for a ship the size of the
Differential
, for a craft that was less than a tenth its size. Even for a galactic body as rich as the Republic, it was a wasteful use of energy. But if the Republic was trying to illustrate the importance of its SFT passenger, then it had chosen the perfect demonstration of power. Moon could already feel the no-expense-spared, you-will-obey-me vibe hurtling towards them.

“They still think I’m a traitor, don’t they?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing like that was said explicitly. But, I think that’s a fair assumption. Unless you can convince them otherwise.”

Moon shook her head, out of words. She stared blankly at the smooth table surface. Ecstasy and agony, both in the one night. Why did it always seem to be like this? Fate snatching victory at the very apex of achievement.

She suddenly thought of her attack. In the welter of words and events since, it was no wonder she had forgotten about it, but with a miasma of threat hanging around her, she was forcibly reminded of it.

“There was an incident tonight,” she began, hesitantly.

Drue’s gaze sharpened at the word. “What kind of incident?”

“I was threatened by one of the crew.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know.” Moon shook her head. “I wasn’t—didn’t look for a name tag.” She tried to explain her anxiety and sense of disorientation. “I went for a walk, to clear my head, and I took a wrong turn. I wasn’t paying any attention. He came up behind me.”

Drue’s hand, the one resting on the table, tensed, the fingers folding convulsively into a half fist. “Did he attack you?”

“No, nothing like that.” Although it could have ended up that way. “Srin came to my rescue.”

The other man said nothing but a light glinted in one eye. Was that amusement?

“Did he?”

“That’s not the point, though,” Moon stressed, putting both hands up in front of her in an unconsciously defensive gesture. “The soldier mentioned that there were rumours flying around the ship about the possibility of a supernova with the experiments I’m conducting.”

The small smile on Drue’s face disappeared. “He definitely said ‘supernova’?”

Moon licked her lips. “I think Hen Savic told them.”

“Fuck!” Drue dropped his head and scanned the floor, as if looking for a weapon of some kind. “What possessed him to leak that kind of information?”

“I think he’s afraid this experiment’s bad for his reputation.” Seeing the puzzled look on Drue’s face, she went on to explain, “Savic’s been spending the past two decades loaning Srin out to scientists across the Republic, helping them with their research.”

At her questioning look, he nodded acknowledgement.

“He regards it as some kind of track record? a one hundred percent success rate. Then I come along and ruin it for him. With the first StellMil experiment a failure, he thinks it reflects badly on his, and Srin’s, reputation.”

“This is bigger than any one person’s reputation,” Drue disagreed. “If Savic is more worried about his non-existent reputation than the Republic’s retaliation, then the man’s obviously lost touch with reality.”