In Enemy Hands (3 page)

At least her thoughts were still her own. And just as well because, three years after he’d successfully escaped into thin air, she still wanted to wring Kad Minslok’s neck. Once, she had been an influential senior research scientist, naive yet content, working in the esoteric field of solar-forming, as the bureaucrats liked to call it. She didn’t ask much of her research partners, and never saw it as relevant to question them about their political leanings or what they liked to eat at home. All she wanted was their unswerving devotion and a full commitment of their intellect to the project at hand.

Kad had seemed an ideal partner under such circumstances. He was content with not sharing vids of his vacations, or filling the lab with stories of his weekend exploits. In a way, she hadn’t taken much notice of him as a person at all, until he declared himself an enemy of the Republic, with the Security Force snapping at his heels.

Once again, she wondered how he managed to get away from them while locked inside a secure establishment, and whether he ever spared a thought for the difficulties his escape posed for her. He had only punched her once, but it was enough. She learnt that the Force soldiers had found her prone body—with cut lips and a bleeding nose—and sent her to the nearest hospital. But they obviously weren’t as taken in by Kad’s assault on her as he wanted them to be.

Moon dug through her bag, pulling out a simple long-sleeved shirt and straight skirt and laying them on the bed before walking to the bathroom.

Instead, they questioned her relentlessly about not only Kad’s dealings, but her own. It was bad enough staring at a procession of grim-faced men while sporting a bruised, technicolour face, without also having to pick her way through the verbal minefield they presented. Why did she take a holiday on this particular planet at this particular time? Why didn’t she take a vacation for three consecutive years? Why did he attend this conference but not that one? Why did they go separately? Together? Who did they see and why? For the first time in her life, Moon was glad her parents were dead, so they didn’t have to see their daughter subjected to marathon interrogation sessions. Even after she was released from the hospital, the harassment continued, with irregular pre-dawn visits and searches from the Security Force. She lost sleep, weight and peace of mind.

There were no public announcements made, no overt signs of violence, but the atmosphere around Moon was dangerous enough to cause her friends to begin falling away from her. She couldn’t blame them, she thought. The stench of Security Force questionings could infiltrate the most pristine of reputations. That was the rationalisation she used, even as she stored up bitterness created by the quiet betrayal of people she had thought were her allies. The Republic, ruthless and brutal, was not a body to cross; it was understandable that people would want to have as little as possible to do with its enforcement arm. But, considering Moon had so few friends to begin with, their collective desertion still hurt.

Three years later, on a Raker class ship, a disillusioned Moon sighed and stepped into the shower alcove, turning her face up into the sensor-activated needles of hot water, breathing in the clouds of steam that formed and swirled around her body. It was such a little thing, but she thought she would never take a shower for granted again for as long as she lived.

Their initial questioning didn’t break her—they were dubious about her claims that she knew very little about her research partner, not even where he lived. So she was transferred to a medium-security facility, as the Republic termed it.

Remembering the term, Moon snorted into the cleansing soft spikes of water.

If that had been a medium-security facility, she felt truly sorry for anyone incarcerated in maximum security. The food was mediocre, the rooms bare and there was little in the way of amenities beyond a scrubby dusty enclosure on a cold planet that she didn’t even know the name of. But worst of all, more than her sudden isolation, her lack of comrades, her curiosity over where Kad had disappeared to, she had been deprived of her work. There were no labs at the medium-security facility. No working rooms. No clearboards. There was only stifling boredom, interrupted by grim and intense questioning sessions.

Twenty-four months. They kept her on that barren, nameless rock for twenty-four months, while they probed every thread of her past. The lack of intellectual stimulation drove Moon to barter rations of food she could hardly bear to eat, for a small news panel that could be hacked to accept input from her as well. It was the most primitive of devices, unable to interface with any network, or even communicate with any other device, but she guarded it as if it was the most precious thing in the galaxy. Only bringing it into the open when nobody else was around, she used to laboriously type out equations and formulae with her fingernail, ensuring that, no matter what else happened, she wouldn’t forget the foundations of her own research.

Finally, with frustratingly empty hands, the Security Force reluctantly returned her to a Republic-sanctioned research facility to help pick up the fragments of her shattered research under their ever-watchful eyes. And now, more than a year after that, purified and exonerated, she was aboard the Republic ship
Differential
, finally free of overt surveillance and about to conduct her first reality experiment into her preferred term for what she was doing—stellar mechanics.

Moon switched off the water, dried herself and dressed in the clothes she laid out. Any physical wounds from occasional rough handling by the Security Force had faded into the smooth brown of her skin, but the emotional scars remained. She had always thought of herself as a serious yet fun-loving person, someone with a rewarding career and a respectable circle of good friends. And all it took to set back her career, scare away her friends and bury her sense of good cheer so deep she thought she would never find it again was one man: Kad Minslok.

The sleeve caught on her elbow as she slipped the shirt over her head and she tugged on it violently, then paused and took a deep breath. She had been invited to dinner by Captain Jeen, who seemed personable enough. She would, likewise, be calm and collected—the outwardly sociable face of the woman she used to be.

With a final look in the mirror, Moon left her quarters.

“I hear your research has the potential to revolutionise the Republic, Doctor.” Jeen took an appreciative sip of pale green wine from his glass and looked at her over its delicate hand-blown rim.

Moon took a moment from subtly stuffing her face full of food to meet his eyes. The members of the Space Fleet didn’t know how good they had it, she thought—fine cutlery and crockery, a wide variety of food and a stunning choice of alcoholic beverages. Her mind meandered back to her internment and she stifled the urge to grab at the food laid out before her with both hands and shove it all into her mouth.

“I hope the peaceful applications of my research will enable more opportunities in the Republic,” she replied carefully, resisting the urge to reach for the steaming dish of glazed, braised vegetables.

Jeen twirled the glass in his hand, watching the thin liquid slosh in its transparent bowl. “Stellar-forming. It sounds very…ambitious.”

“It is,” she agreed, surreptitiously eyeing the different dishes to determine which she’d attack next.

“And yet there were only two of you involved in this research?”

Somehow, she knew Kad would come up. It was like pre-internment days all over again. She gave up choosing her next dish and settled back in her chair, knowing she would need to be attentive for the next part of the meal.

“That’s right.”

“Considering the amount of funding provided, wasn’t that highly unusual? From the importance with which the Republic views your work, I had expected a team of perhaps twenty or even thirty researchers.”

“Our equipment costs were higher than most,” Moon conceded. “And simulation time in the heavy-water labs is very expensive. And—” She hesitated, knowing what she had to say would sound arrogant. “There were not many people around with the kind of cross-disciplinary skills I wanted. We seem to produce scientists who have narrower and narrower specialisations rather than broader. For stellar-forming, as you call it, I needed people with as broad perspectives as possible.”

“And in all of Republic space, only one person was suitable?”

The Security Force had asked her the same thing and Moon realised that her answer now sounded as ridiculous as it did then. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t suspect Minslok for a moment?”

“Suspect him of what, Captain? Being an agent for anti-Republic sentiment?” She shrugged. It was a careless gesture, but her gaze was intense as it bored into his. “I’m not a researcher in economics or politics. My area of specialty is stellar re-ignition. Quantum mechanics has very little in common with political agitation.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.” He smiled and once more those disarming dimples creased his cheeks. “The past few years must have been difficult for you.”

“It’s not a nice thing when your society thinks you’re a traitor,” Moon agreed. She was proud that her voice was so even, with only the slightest bite to it. It had been difficult even thinking about such things when she was first released from the medium-security facility, but now she felt she was starting to finally come to grips with her experience.

Starting. Only starting.

She reached forward and took a small sip of wine to moisten her suddenly dry throat.

“But you were exonerated. Believe me, that doesn’t happen too often.”

There was something in his tone that hinted at an intriguing incident in his past. Had someone he’d known also been picked up by the Security Force? There was a chance here to form a deeper relationship with the
Differential
’s captain, but Moon still felt too mentally exhausted to pursue the issue. For now, she was more than happy just to think about her own welfare for a change. It would take time for her to trust another man again.

She let the hint at intimacy drop, and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “No, I’m sure it doesn’t.”

“Did you lose many friends?” Now his eyes softened, along with his voice. Had he been duty bound to follow a pre-approved checklist of questions before being allowed to venture into more personal territory?

“A few.” She looked into his blue eyes, their colour like the shallow sea off a coral coast, wondering how much she could share with him. “A lot.”

He breathed in deeply, a large sound in a small room. “And are you sure this stellar-forming idea of yours will work?”

Stellar-forming. She preferred the more proper term of stellar re-ignition, but it appeared that the military and the bureaucrats were hooked on “stellar-forming.” Knowing she was doomed to defeat, Moon was happy to let that battle slide.

“Theoretically, yes.”

He must have picked up the lingering reserve in her voice because he seemed to take a step backwards, his expression hardening slightly from its previous openness. Whatever he wanted, he wasn’t going to find it that night.

“I’ve read through your file, Doctor,” he said. “You’ve already escaped the clutches of the Security Force once, which is rare enough. I’ve never heard of anyone who’s escaped them a second time.”

He was a decent man after all. Moon could see that. A lot of males would have interpreted her continued aloofness as a slight to their masculine egos.

“Given the right circumstances, I’m sure my experiments will work, Captain.”

His eyes were cool but she couldn’t mistake the sincerity in his voice. “I hope so.”

That gave her the opening she was looking for.

“Speaking of which,” she began lightly, “you said we’d discuss the missing Quantaflex at dinner.” She didn’t wait for his reply, but launched into rapid argument. “If my experiments are as important to you, and to the Republic, as you say they are, then the absence of a computer will hamper them irreparably. I can’t work without the proper equipment, Captain, and I refuse to be held accountable for a substandard working environment. Especially,” she stressed, “when my initial requirements were already itemised, precisely detailed and forwarded to you before I stepped aboard your ship.”

She was never going to return to that Republic detention facility again, of that Moon was certain. And, as pleasant as Drue Jeen was, she was not going to take the blame for something that was essentially his fault. She had done that once already, and that was one time too many. She gritted her teeth and waited for his reply.

“You misunderstand, Dr. Thadin.” His voice was still pleasant, implying a gift for diplomacy.

Moon urged him to continue with a sceptical look.

“Of course I received your requirements. And we carried out extensive refits based on your specifications. We even put a Mark Six Quantaflex on order…until something better came along.”

“Better?” Moon frowned. “There is no ‘better.’ The Mark Six is the latest model, and the Quantaflex series is the most advanced in the galaxy. What could possibly be better?”

“I think it would be best if I showed you,” Jeen said finally. “It’s hard to explain. Say, tomorrow morning in your laboratory?”

“I hope this isn’t a joke, Captain.”

“Neither of us is laughing, Doctor.”

However, it was laughter that caught her ear as she walked back to her lab the following morning. On her way to breakfast in the main canteen an hour earlier, she had cut through her working space. There, she checked the equipment once again and discovered a small heavy-water tank that had eluded her before. But there was still no massive computer to crunch through the simulation data and dizzying levels of equations for her.

She had still not unpacked her things after returning from dinner the previous evening, and the absence of the computer made her determined to demand that Drue Jeen either put her off at the next port or immediately requisition the much-needed equipment. She wasn’t sure exactly what game he was playing, but something that could outperform a Mark Six just didn’t exist in known space. Such a machine was still years away in development. She may have been lulled into complacency by the good food and wine at dinner, but this was her own future she was thinking about. She was determined to remain firm when she met with the captain later that morning.

Frowning and preoccupied, she would have walked straight past the group of soldiers if the sounds of their merriment hadn’t interrupted her thoughts. Still, she only slowed as she neared the group, too wary to stop completely.

“Don’t you remember me, Turk?” one of the men asked. Like the others in the group, he was tall and broad-shouldered and Moon’s quick glance wasn’t enough to see past him to whomever he was addressing.

“Should I?” Contrasted with the roughhouse nature of the soldiers, his voice was preternaturally calm.

The crowd burst out laughing.

“The name’s Bay, Turk,” the soldier pressed. “Can you remember that? Bay?”

They laughed again and Moon hurried her steps, but she still caught the tail of the conversation following behind her.

“If you can’t remember my name by the end of the week, you’ll owe me some money. Is that okay with you, Turk?”

Moon restrained a shiver. She had always been a little nervous around groups of boisterous, testosterone-laden men, but her fear had intensified over the past three years. The Republic used similar types in their secured facilities—tall, broad-shouldered, grim-faced men, with meaty hands and cruel glints in their eyes. The barely controlled violence in their heavy tread and the impatience with which they paced a room was as intimidating as their bulk. She was a woman, and that accorded her some protection, but she had seen men stumble around the facilities with worse than bruised faces and limps after their own interrogation sessions.

Like the predatory group that was still laughing behind her. She lengthened her stride, eager to reach the sanctuary of her new lab. The less she saw of any of those people, the better.

She entered the lab, prepared to breathe a sigh of relief, only to see she was not alone. Drue Jeen was already there. And also another man. He was tall and stocky, with glossy black skin and dark alert eyes. His hair was cut so short Moon imagined him bald for a moment until she got the chance to look at him a little more closely and saw closely shaved, prickly strands sprouting from his head.

Jeen smiled. “Dr. Thadin, I was about to send out a search party.”

She gestured to the door. “I went for breakfast. In the main canteen.”

He nodded but she saw the concern in his eyes. “If you desire privacy, the officers’ mess is a bit quieter.” He paused, to let the message sink in, then indicated the man next to him. “Allow me to introduce Dr. Hen Savic.”

Moon extended her hand automatically and found it enfolded in a large curl of warmth.

“Are you here to sort out my problem with the Kray, Doctor?” she asked. “The captain assures me he has a solution, but I’m afraid that my time here will be useless without a high-powered simulation machine.”

“It was my understanding the Mark Six was barely keeping up with the complexity of your calculations, Dr. Thadin.” Savic’s voice was low and rumbling, like incipient thunder rolling off faraway hills.

Moon blinked. Yes, that was correct, but how would this strange man know? Was he going to be her assistant? “Are you a computational expert, Dr. Savic?” she asked.

He chortled, giving her a glimpse of blinding white teeth. “Let’s just say I’m a handler of such.”

“Speaking of which,” Jeen interrupted in a low tone. He looked at Savic meaningfully.

“It’s the second day. He’ll be fine,” the taller man replied.

Once more, Moon felt as though the ground was shifting beneath her feet. There was communication going on here that was more than the mere words spoken. She got as far as looking from one man to another, trying to decipher their body language, when she felt a presence behind her. Feeling more than a little edgy, she twirled.

And he smiled at her. The newest arrival to her lab was yet another male, but he wasn’t as tall as Jeen or Savic, topping her by only half a head. His hair was short and a nondescript brown, his skin olive and his eyes grey. His features were relaxed but a little worn, past the first flush of maturity but not yet starting to flirt with the inevitable silver of age. Moon’s initial thought was that he was a few years older than her and attractive, but certainly not as good-looking as the captain.

“You must be Dr. Moon Thadin,” he said, stepping forward. “I’m Turk.”

Savic bustled forward at those words, a vector of sudden energy. “You’re not Turk,” he objected, his voice rife with irritation. Then he raised it, almost bellowing. “Your name is Srin Flerovs.”

“They call me Turk,” he replied, unruffled by the way the darker man paced around him, checking him as though afraid he’d been somehow injured, even lifting his arms to check the side seams on his clothing. But his loose shirt was only slightly creased, and his pants were smooth and flowing. “I quite like it.”

Moon found the entire scene bewildering, but kept quiet. Her senses drank in every movement, every word, hoping to make sense of it all later.

Savic sighed heavily, a mother circling its chick, but was evidently satisfied with his examination. “It doesn’t matter.”

He turned slightly and Moon found herself the focus of three pairs of masculine eyes, all of them expectant. What exactly, she wondered, were they expecting of her?

“Yes, I’m Dr. Thadin,” she said slowly, in answer to Srin Flerovs’s implicit question. Her gaze slid from one man to another, reading the friendly curiosity in one and matching speculation in the other two. What was going on here?

It was Jeen who finally broke the heavy seconds of silence.

“Doctor, you don’t have a Kray because we have something better.” He stretched out his right hand. “The Turk.”

“The…?” Moon’s head snapped to Flerovs again and she frowned. “I don’t think I understand.”

Savic cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Srin,” he stressed the name slightly, shooting a rebuke at Jeen, “is a very talented individual. He can do calculations faster than a Mark Six Quantaflex. When the Republic decided to build this facility for you, and put Captain Jeen’s ship at your disposal, they also wanted to ensure that you had the best computational machine available at the time.”