The drone whistled a set of numbers.
That cannot be possible.
“Say again.”
The drone repeated the numerical sequence representing a position many light years from the edge of Alliance space. T’Hargen felt his plates harden and his cranial ridges swell.
No possibility of reinforcements.
The drone flew off behind him to Kathryn. Her soft croon greeted the device. Their low conversation fluttered in the background as he examined their objective. Kathryn murmured something about water then her clothing rustled as she shifted, no doubt reaching for the hydration he had provided for her.
He eyed the far cliffs, searching for evidence of caves—pitballs, for any evidence of Bluthen presence. Nothing but calm blue skies and green slopes above unbroken cliffs. They would be too exposed on the floating walkway, yet he could see no other approach to the island except for an aquatic—an intense shudder ripped through him—endeavour. He would send the drone to reconnoitre the surrounding land, confirm their enemy was not present, and provide covering fire if the need arose.
If worse came to worst they could be forced to enter the sea. If need be, he could cling to the walkway. Terror and disgust crawled through him on slimy legs then the heat of love soldered his backbone. Eugen had gone into water for Sandrea. He could do it for Kathryn. All the same, he needed to know she would be safe if it came to that.
“Kathryn, are you able to swim?”
The gentle breeze hissed over the grass. He focused his hearing behind him. A deep, disturbing silence lay heavy in the air. He speared his gaze over his shoulder. The pretty dell sat serene. And completely empty.
“Kathryn?”
No answer. A recollection prodded his mind.
She’d said ‘water.’
He spun his gaze back to the sea. Agile movement below him seized his focus. Kathryn’s smooth strides barely seemed to impact on the walkway.
No!
His heart and gut collided like a pair of binary stars spiralling together to explode in cataclysmic disaster. Fear grabbed his throat and squeezed with brutal force. Her name snagged in the breath of his lungs. To call out could draw hidden attention to them. He leaped to his feet and grabbed his scanner to communicate with the drone.
“Kathryn. You will wait for me.”
She halted, turned, and then stared up the rocky slope to his position. She waved. For a second he closed his eyes in agitated relief and anger.
I am going to . . .
Get down there as swiftly as is possible.
He leaped away, ran over patches of grass, jumped down the sides of boulders.
“Drone, is there any indication our presence has been noted?”
“Negative,” it warbled.
Sunlight sparkled on clear water just before him. He skidded to a halt and stared at the beautiful horror. Terror kicked his sacs and sucked the strength from his knees. His lungs seized. Kathryn walked towards him, her stride easy, as though she was not within reach of terrible, lurking peril.
He marshalled his courage and demanded his lungs regain operation. Fresh, salty air filled his nose. The constriction in his chest lessened, but, g’Nel, he couldn’t narrow the wide-open wildness of his eyes. Kathryn held a hand out to him, her gentle smile reaching through the dreadful trepidation smothering him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you wished to come.”
His breathing eased, yet he couldn’t seem to step forwards, no matter how much he ordered his body to move. His hindbrain screamed, Get off the water, Kathryn! Get off the water! Get off the water!
Words sparked in spasmodic flashes in his mind. He tried to order them into coherent form.
“You . . . left.”
Concern flitted through her gaze and she stepped off the walkway onto dry land. His heart unclenched in a flood of hot relief.
“When you didn’t answer me I assumed you preferred to remain on land.”
She settled her hand on his shoulder. Tension seeped from his body.
“Answer you?”
Her brows drew together and her head tilted to one side. “When I suggested a recon of the bay and boardwalk.”
Cognitive processes glimmered, hiccupped, then initiated.
“You call this floating”—death trap—“pontoon a boardwalk?”
“Yes. T’Hargen, are you okay?”
I am now that you’re safe.
“You advocate we use this?”
“It seems the most direct route.” Her considering gaze swept over him. “TL’s way stronger than he looks. He can ensure your stability, give you aid if you need it.”
The drone emitted a helpful and happy burble, assuring he was equipped with a flotation device should the need arise.
I’d rather drown.
He could not bear her to view him as anything less than able. He could do this. He must do this.
“I can relate to how you feel, you know,” Kathryn said. “I suffer from coulrophobia.”
He frowned at the word his translator could not interpret and shook his head, wondering at her purpose for this line of thought.
“I’m sorry?”
“Clowns. I’m afraid of clowns. Terrified, in fact.”
Clownz?
“I cannot identify this word, Kathryn. There is nothing in the Alliance languages that corresponds with it. What are . . .”—he tested the word on his tongue—“clownz?”
“A person or persons part of an entertainment performance. Their faces are painted outlandishly and in a manner that distorts the features. They usually wear bizarrely coloured and styled wigs and costumes.”
They sound harmless enough.
“And you find them fearful.”
One of her brows quirked up and down in quick succession. “Terrifying.”
“But you’re a . . .”
“Psych analyst? Believe me, no one knows better how real these fears are.” She gestured towards the walkway. “If this was lined with clowns there’s no way you’d get me across it. Just one would keep me here, even though I know they’re just an ordinary person. I wouldn’t go near them.”
“Unless someone on the other side was in desperate need of your help.”
Her chest rose to a sharp breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’d like to think it wouldn’t hold me back if that were the case, but . . .”
He lifted his gaze to the island. If the drone’s information was to be believed, there were people over there in desperate need of their help.
“How do you feel about taking a boat, then?” Kathryn asked.
He stared at her.
“Boat?”
“Yes, boat.”
Kathryn pointed behind him and he turned his gaze to the left. Nestled in a small grotto, three elongated spheres floated in calm water. They appeared large enough to fit the two of them—at a squeeze. He had no objection to being squeezed against Kathryn, even if it was in a boat. With any luck the feel of her against him would lessen the terror of being surrounded by water. At least it wouldn’t touch him.
“TL says he can operate it,” Kathryn continued.
Great, I’m contemplating placing my life in the hands of a machine whose regard for my life is non-existent.
It wouldn’t harm Kathryn though.
T’Hargen turned his gaze back to the boardwalk.
What would be worse?
A boat would be quicker. They’d spend less time in the open, less chance to be discovered if guards did in fact make visual contact with them.
“Boat,” he managed to squeeze out through the inherent fear swelling his throat.
A roiling surge of horror threatened to still his heart and ice his veins. He called on valour from the
depths of his soul, then strode into the shallow cavern and glared at the bench seat straddling the centre of the closest craft. A seismic tremor built in his body. He closed his eyes, curled his fingers into his palms, and fought to still its eruption.
The damn thing’s going to move when I step in. It will slide away, tip, and I’ll fall into—
“T’Hargen?”
He snapped his eyelids up and stared hard at the far rock wall. With a huge effort he governed his body and clamped an iron fist around his escalating terror. When he knew he could present a calm visage, he turned to Kathryn.
“I think,” he said, “it will be best if I enter the craft first.” He gave her a shaky lopsided grin. “Otherwise I might squish you when I get in.”
Her concerned gaze felt like a gentle caress and marginally relaxed the ramrod straightness of his clenched back.
“If you’re sure.”
The uncertainty in her tone fired his woefully absent courage. He crouched beside the craft then froze.
How did one board such a vessel?
Very carefully, no doubt.
A grunt of self-aimed amusement escaped his lungs and, carefully, he placed one foot in the boat, gently transferred his weight, then sat and swung his other foot in.
Every one of his senses sprang to stinging hyper-alert.
The craft remained stable.
“Scoot over,” Kathryn said.
He fisted the soft cushion of the seat. With fierce restraint he kept his breath even, though his heart beat fit to burst from his chest.
Move? Surely she jests.
~ ~ ~
Kat climbed into the boat, doing her best not to disturb its balance, and thus T’Hargen’s. She settled next to him and desperately exuded assurance in an attempt to infuse him with her confidence.
“How are you doing?”
A quiver crossed his lips and his eyelids closed for a moment. Again his lips trembled as though he willed to speak, but could not. Then he gave a short, sharp nod. She squeezed his thigh. TL hovered over her lap then settled lightly.
“Alright, TL, take us out. Gently.”
A soft hum coincided with a minute vibration as the craft’s engine engaged. A greater tremor shook T’Hargen. She patted the condensed muscles of his thigh. The little egg-shaped craft moved from the shelter, making a rapid, high-pitched dweeble-dweeble-dweeble-dweeble, like a soprano blowing soap bubbles. For a moment it diverted her attention and concern for T’Hargen.
Holy smoke! I’m in a Slartibartfast movie.
Below the palm she rested on T’Hargen’s leg, wave after shuddering wave rippled through him. She rubbed small circles with her hand.
“It’s alright, T’Hargen, we’re safe. Nothing will happen. It’s alright.”
She marvelled at the courage of the man, to voluntarily face such a dreadful fear in order to save the lives of others. Just the thought of facing a roomful of clowns dragged anxiety in a prickling wave across the skin of her nape and shoulders. She’d run a hundred miles in the opposite direction to avoid such a confrontation. Even though she knew in her mind that the people behind the masks were most likely every-day, good people, her irrational fear just wouldn’t or couldn’t distinguish the difference.
The breeze of their passage shifted through her hair and brought the fresh tangy scent of ocean. How she’d missed that smell. A born and bred coastal girl, the sea was in her blood. They cleared the breakwater and headed across the calm water of the bay for the island. The tension in T’Hargen’s form skyrocketed.
Thank goodness it’s not choppy.
“I know it looks like a lot of water—”
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Wrong thing to say. Idiot.
“And that’s just the top of it,” TL whistled in a merry tone.
“That’s enough!”
He oopled a subdued apology and she turned back to T’Hargen.
“We’re safe.”
A clear screen rose from the rim of the cockpit, curved over their heads then sealed behind them with a soft click. The breeze cut off.
T’Hargen relaxed slightly.
Perhaps he feels more isolated from the terror.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“There that’s better, isn’t it? Thank you, TL.”
“Wasn’t me.”
She snapped her head around and leaned down to him. “What do you mean it wasn’t you?” she hissed.
Unexpected movement in her peripheral vision rang ominous bells. She flicked her gaze to the outside. The sea level began to rise up the side of their craft. Her gut clenched.
Oh. Shit.
“TL, what are you doing?” she growled.
Water lapped the clear cockpit bubble then rose with alarming speed.
They sank below the surface.
She lurched upright and scanned the seal of the canopy. No water seeped in. Relief sizzled through her.
“This I am not doing. There appears to be an autopilot.”
“Can’t you override it?” she whispered.
T’Hargen’s body ceased shuddering. She turned to him. Every muscle bulged in stark outline, their density beneath her fingers like marble. He remained stock-still, staring straight ahead. His breathing shallowed and increased pace. Her heart sank.
TL offered, rather too quickly in her opinion, to stun him.
“No.”
She twisted in her seat and cupped T’Hargen’s face in her hands. The beard-plates beneath her palms felt as hard as the devil’s hangnails.
“Look at me.”
His gaze remained welded to the clear water swallowing them. She applied pressure to his cheek.
“T’Hargen, look at me.”
Slowly, as though turning his head on seized muscles, he faced her. Profound terror saturated his wide-eyed gaze. A rush of empathy surged through her. She tapped the corners of his mouth with her thumbs. He was in there, she just had to call him forth.
“T’Hargen?”
A flicker of recognition took hold then firmed into a silent appeal for help. She wrapped a firm clasp around his wrist where he crushed the seat in a death grip.
“You’re okay. I’m here. It will be alright. We’re safe. We’re protected. Okay?”
His horrified stupor lessened. She took a hand from his face and rubbed it up and down his left arm.
“I’m here. We’re good, you’re okay.”
Think, woman, think! Divert him, take his mind away from the source of fear surrounding us.
“Why do you think there aren’t any Bluthen guards?”
His stare remained fixed, unblinking, as though to do so would sever contact with her and thus his only hope of survival.
“T’Hargen, I asked—”
“I heard you.”
Okay, so his voice was somewhat monotone, but the panic seemed to have decreased. A curl of hope and relief slipped through her. She waited a moment for him to continue. With aching slowness, he drew a deep breath and she shifted her hand and rubbed slow circles over the massive planes of his chest. The unyielding density beneath her fingers assured her his chest plates had hardened into defensive readiness.
A shade more calm crept into his visage. His lips parted and muscles rippled along his throat, but no sound emerged. Determination and concentration furrowed his brow. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. Again his mouth opened.
“Finance,” he croaked.
Okaaay. Are we on the same page here?
“Finance?”
He gave a short, sharp nod. His gaze became more intent, more focused on her as though determined to blot out the terror that incarcerated them. Admiration burned in her.
“Yes, finance. Condu—” His voice
petered out as though squeezed into extinction, then he cleared his throat. “Conducting a protracted war is fiscally draining. That’s one reason why the—” His gaze flickered for a brief moment then his shoulder muscles hunched as a mild tremor shook him. She squeezed his wrist. He swallowed, drew a harsh breath. “Why the Alliance chose to focus on protecting what is theirs, rather than attempting to accumulate more.”
“As the Bluthen are attempting to accumulate more.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re saying there aren’t any guards, on the outside at least, because they can’t afford any?”
“Even the Bluthen have limited resources, and we . . .”
She lifted her eyebrows marginally to encourage more from him. Concern shifted through his gaze. Concern for her.
He’s worried about me? He’s surrounded by his worst nightmare and he’s concerned for me.
Wonder coursed through her on a hot wave of respect.
Damn this man is incredible.
“And we what?” she prompted.
Nothing. No reply, just a hardening of the muscles beneath her hands.
“T’Hargen Mhartak, answer me.”
His chin jutted a little. “We are far from Alliance space.”
Yes, I figured as much.
“How far?”
“Exceedingly.”
“But we can return via the teleport beam, so what’s the biggie?”
His eye-ridges V’d to a frown.
Good, he’s diverted more of his mind to decipher my words.
His face cleared of confusion.
“If we get into trouble—”
“You mean further trouble.”
A corner of his full, masculine mouth quirked up and he acknowledged her amendment with a slight nod.
“Further trouble. There is no likelihood of reinforcement coming to our aid.”
Alien, Awakening Page 15
