"Not everyone supports Anxhou," Grallaz said. His eyes still whirled with too much violet.
Roland shot a sidelong glance at the Ptorix. "Yeah. So you said. Doesn’t help me, though."
"Not all Ptorix are like that," Allysha said. "You’d kill them all because of a few?"
The journalist scowled at her, his nostrils flared. "It’s where you come from, I guess. I hate them. I hate them." He strode away, his footsteps banging up the stairs.
Allysha let out a long gust of air. So much for working for him. She couldn’t; wouldn’t. Not a bigot like him. Oh, well. She could always go home.
"Give me the canister, Allysha," Saahren said. "It will be destroyed on my flagship where we can apply sufficient heat to burn it and what it contains."
Weariness engulfed her. Her water logged garments hung cold and heavy on her body. Could she trust him? Her gaze strayed to Tyne and then to Grallaz.
"What should I do, Grallaz?" she said in Ptorix.
His eyes faded from blue to green down to orange. "What choice do we have, little one? Do you trust him?"
Saahren hadn’t moved. He stood silent, his hands at his sides, as wet and bedraggled as she was. A drop of water trickled down the side of his face and dripped onto his collar. Trust him to do what he said?
"You can trust him," Tyne said. "I’ll make sure it’s done."
She handed Tyne the canister and stumbled up to her quarters.
***
Showered and dried, Allysha lay down on her bed. Relax, get some sleep, Preston had told her. Easy enough to say. She’d gone past weariness and out the other side, into that bone-tiredness that precludes sleep. She flicked through some of the entertainment channels but nothing absorbed her enough to shut down the voices in her head. At last, she selected a collection of Tabora chamber music and allowed herself to drift with the complex harmonies.
So much of her world was turned upside down. Sean was out of her life; that was a positive, but probably the only one. She’d seen death up close and nearly died herself. She wasn’t sure about what had happened at Forenisi anymore, or Jossur. Had Xanthor told the truth at that meeting in Shernish? And what about the business at Brjyl. Was Saahren right? Had Lord Anxhou murdered his own people to start a war? That was so appalling it couldn’t be true. Could it? And Roland, whose fiancée’s family was murdered at Belvista. She’d always believed the Ptorix were cultured, peace loving people who spread throughout the Galaxy because it was empty. Now… now she wasn’t so sure.
The music soared and Allysha soared with it. Her father’s face appeared before her mind’s eye. She’d become estranged from him because of Sean. Ironic, really. Sean was wrong for her, always had been. She could see that, now. Her father said Sean would use her, lie to her, eventually leave her. But she’d been headstrong. Too late now to regret that last monumental argument. Her father had been right, she was wrong. And she would never be able to tell him.
Ah, well. She couldn’t change the past. Move on. She was young, with nothing to hold her back. She had a house, plenty of credit, plenty of work. Shernish without Sean would be a good place to start, safe from van Tongeren, safe from Saahren. She steered away from reflections of the past and imagined the university on the hill above the port, the river glistening as it journeyed to the sea, the sky an endless blue vault.
***
Saahren sat in News Hound’s lounge staring at the view screen. During the journey through shift-space the view screens showed whatever scenes the viewer might want. At the moment the spectacular clouds of the wolf nebula graced the display, its roiling clouds illuminated by the young stars in its heart.
A day already and still she wouldn’t talk to him. At least she wouldn’t be going anywhere with Roland, not after his performance. That, at least, was a small consolation.
He heard her footsteps on the stairs, lighter than anyone else’s. He sat a little straighter. Maybe she’d talk to him now. She appeared in the doorway, her hair gleaming, her skin a little too pale. And bruises, black and blue and yellow, right around her throat.
"I don’t think much of the decorations around your neck."
She sat down opposite him, her hand touching her throat. "They’re just bruises. They’ll fade."
"Allysha, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that this has happened to you. It was the last thing I wanted. If I could have found a way to protect you…"
Her wonderful green eyes glittered. She brushed the tears away. "I don’t need protecting. I started it. It was right that I finish it."
He leaned toward her. "Do not blame yourself. Take it as fortunate that you found the virus, that you were prepared to take steps to destroy it. What if Korns and Rostich had found the stuff without your help? Where do you think we’d be now?"
Her face creased into an irritated frown. "Who else do you blame?"
"The people who were prepared to use it. Do you blame the pistol for shooting someone? The knife that cuts? Many things are potentially dangerous. And you have prevented an inter-species war."
"Yeah. Have you found Sean? Do you know where he is?"
His heart lurched. Surely she didn’t still care about him? He kept his voice level. "Regretfully, no. I have asked our Intelligence people to work on it."
"I’m sure he didn’t know about the virus."
"Are you? I’m not. And even if you’re right, what about his attempts to sell you to the GPR without your permission?"
She mashed her lips. "He’s weak. He’s in over his depth and he doesn’t know what else to do."
The blessed spirit, she was going to forgive the bastard. Again. "And you’re the sacrifice to his ineptitude? For the life of me I cannot understand why a woman like you—smart, beautiful, talented—could waste your life on a womanizing drunkard like O’Reilly."
He broke off, shoving down the anger welling up from his gut. "Well, that’s ended. You are mine."
She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. "No. No, I’m not. Please. I just… I just want this to end. I don’t want Sean, I don’t want Roland, I don’t want you." She clenched her fists and thumped the arms of the chair. "I want to go home. Please. Get me back to Shernish."
The anger evaporated, replaced with a cold flicker of foreboding. "I can’t. Not straight away," he said.
"Why not? You could get me there to find Sean."
"I need you to help interpret the information on the machine we obtained from Brjyl. I need to end the political standoff. When that’s done, things will go back to normal and we can talk about your return to Shernish."
"So I’m in your hands?"
The thought of her in his arms, in his bed, against his skin sent a wave of warmth tingling through his body. He licked his lips. "Oh, Allysha, I wish that was true. You can make it so."
She blushed and looked away.
"No?" He hadn’t expected anything else; not yet. But even that blush was an encouragement. "I’ll wait."
She picked at something on her sleeve.
"I suppose it’s something for you to think about, isn’t it?" he said. "You were attacked by a Ptorix who was prepared to unleash a biological weapon on humans. And Roland, poor bastard; Ptorix massacred his fiancée’s family and they’re holding her to ransom. You could almost believe they’re as bad as we humans are."
She stared at him with those impenetrable green eyes, drew in a deep breath and walked away, back down the stairs.
He watched her go. If nothing else, he’d given her something to think about.
Sean fought against the rain pelting Lobok Avenue and splashed into a tavern not far from the University’s public entrance. The place was nearly empty. A man rather the worse for wear propped himself up at the bar, hand grasping a half-empty jar. Another sat at a table close to the fire, water dripping from his coat onto the floor. The bored barkeep looked up hopefully from polishing glasses as Sean sauntered up.
"Afternoon. Terrible day, isn’t it?"
"Sure is. Not good fo
r business. What c’n I get you?"
"Just a beer, thanks."
Sean paid and sat down at a table facing the window overlooking the street. He shivered. Fuck, it was cold. Water had dribbled down his neck and almost down to his undershorts. Pretty soon, he’d begin to steam.
He swallowed a mouthful of beer. All he had to do was wait for her to come out. Then he could take her along to his hotel and work out some way of getting her to do van Tongeren’s other little job. He drained the beer and signaled the barkeep to bring another.
Flashing lights preceded the wail of the sirens. Police? Sean set his glass down and peered through the window, looking for the vehicle. A copter, setting down just outside the University’s walls.
The barkeep came to lean over his shoulder. "Will you look at that? A lander came down not half an hour ago, a few people got out and it left. And now the police. I wonder what’s going on?"
"And in this weather, too," Sean said.
People leapt out of the copter and ran into the university’s grounds. Others came the other way; Ptorix security guards manning the gates and the gate house. His nerves jangled. This had to have something to do with Allysha or the canister. Another police copter came down, landing in Lobok Avenue two hundred meters away. Police boiled out and started to set up barricades. Fuck. Another copter had landed in the other direction. They were blocking off the street. Bright lights arced across the ground, glittering in the still falling rain; search lights beamed from hovering craft. The place was like a kicked anthill.
This was starting to look dangerous. Cheshnor would remember him, so would Heendrax. The last thing he wanted was to be caught up in an investigation when whatever was in that canister went off, if it hadn’t already. His heart hammered. Oh, fuck. Maybe Heendrax had told them who he got the canister from. Oh, fuck, nothing was worth this; he’d better disappear. If he worked it right, he ought to be able to avoid Bronx and van Tongeren. Yes. Forget about Allysha, get off this planet, head for somewhere like Kentor. He might be broke but he’d be alive.
He drained the beer, pouring it down his throat in a long, gulping draught.
"Thanks. Gotta go."
He fastened his coat, turned up the cold, wet collar and braved the weather. Just as well he knew his way around here. He slipped up the first alleyway beside the tavern, climbed over a fence and disappeared down a Ptorix lane.
***
Arcturus appeared from shift-space off News Hound’s port side, a long darkness against the starscape. Saahren’s heart beat a little faster as Arcturus grew larger and larger in the ship’s view screen, the running lights defining the ship's three layers of deck. His flagship. He’d be back in charge, back in an environment he understood, back in a clean uniform.
He waited at the airlock for Tyne, Grallaz and Allysha, impatient now to be away. Melching was already in the lander, prepping for the short flight to Arcturus’s hangar bay. Tyne and Grallaz joined him. Only Allysha to come.
Roland, back to his elegant, rumpled best, escorted Allysha himself. When they reached the airlock hatch, he engulfed her in a hug which Saahren noted she didn’t reciprocate.
"That job’s open for you, darling. Forgive me that little aberration. It was the pain, the blood-loss."
She shook her head. "It wouldn’t work, Marius. Anyway, I’ll be going home soon."
Roland grinned. "I doubt if the admiral will be too thrilled about that."
She drew herself up. "The admiral will not have a say."
Oh, yes the admiral would. But that would be for later.
When the other three were inside the airlock, Saahren clasped Roland’s hand. "I’m grateful to you, Roland. And I wish you luck. I’ll see what I can do about your fiancée."
Roland’s eyes widened. "You’ll get her out?"
"Yes. Provided you don’t make any reference to anyone about our trips to Brjyl or to Carnessa. Ever."
Roland chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Bribery. Okay, fair enough. Better you than Anxhou. But you still owe me an interview."
"Yes. Agreed. When this settles."
Roland stepped back. "I’ll hold you to that."
"I’ll send you a wedding invitation, too," he said over his shoulder as he stepped into the airlock.
"I won’t hold my breath," Roland said.
***
Arcturus’s bulk dominated the lander’s view screen. Soon enough the battle cruiser’s massive side wall was the only thing visible. A flashing light above a brightly-lit aperture in the lower deck layer where the hangar bays were located, identified the lander’s destination, one of the ship’s many air locks. The lander slipped inside and settled as the door slid shut behind it.
Saahren stood. "You go with Tyne, Allysha. I’ve arranged for accommodation."
"You’re off to be the admiral, then?"
He let the note of derision slide off his shoulders. "I have to tread carefully. My body double is on this ship in my place. We need to swap without being noticed."
"Oh."
"So, I’ll see you a little later on. But before we leave here." He stopped. She was going to hate him. "Give me your techpack."
Her head jerked up. "Why?"
"Please."
She glowered, brows knitted. "What do you think I’ll do? Mess about with your weapons systems?"
"I don’t know what you will do. But I know what you can do. I can’t take a risk."
"You don’t trust me."
"I do. But I don’t trust you not to play because you can. This is a warship."
She gaped at him. "You want me to marry you, but you don’t trust me. Excuse me if I don’t get it."
"I love you. But I have responsibilities, too. I cannot let my feelings overrule my judgment."
The look on her face morphed from anger to contempt. It burned his heart but he set his feelings aside. He had a job to do.
She took the techpack from her belt and handed it over. "When do I get it back?"
"When I feel I can trust you with it."
"Oh, so I can’t buy it back? Maybe sleep with you?"
The words cut like a knife. He raised the shutters in his soul that had protected him all his life.
***
A female officer led Allysha into a transit car and along a corridor to a door labeled State Room A. "This is your suite, ma’am."
The door opened at a touch. Allysha entered a large and well-appointed sitting room. A three-seater sofa and two chairs in dark blue leather were ranged around a central low table of dark colored wood. A large cabinet of the same wood stood against the wall. The room’s deep pile carpet was a few shades lighter than the chairs. A couple of tasteful prints—scenes from worlds she didn’t recognize—hung on the walls. Through a door to the right she glimpsed a large double bed. On the other side, another doorway led to an office. It contained a desk with a HV unit, a swivel chair and no doubt all the access required for the IS.
A bath, a change of clothes and some food. She dropped into an armchair in the spacious living room feeling drained, empty. Music. She needed music. She asked to hear Orrensaa’s third concerto. Its plaintive strains echoed her mood.
She’d go home; home to Shernish, to her house on the hill. The pain would fade. Brad Stone’s face would become a half-remembered sketch. She squirmed with embarrassment whenever she thought about how gullible she’d been, how easily he’d duped her. And how little she really knew about him. Not that she cared; of course she didn’t care. But there wasn’t anything wrong with a bit of curiosity, was there?
"What do you have on Admiral Saahren?" she asked the ship’s IS.
The IS gave her an illustrated run-down of the man’s military career, starting with him receiving an award for coming top of the course at the military academy. He looked very young, tall and gangly, yet to fill out the width of his own shoulders. But the eyes were the same. Maybe not quite so hard.
The documentary moved on, listing the ships he’d served on and in what capacity. He had
collected two decorations for bravery. The first time as an ensign he led a party sent over to inspect a ship that turned out to be carrying contraband. The crew turned nasty when they realized they’d been caught. Although he was wounded and one of the team was killed, Saahren had taken control of the ship. The second time, he risked his own life to rescue crew trapped in a damaged compartment. He’d been a lieutenant, in his mid twenties. He had filled out, no longer a gangly kid and his face had acquired the stillness, that trade-mark authority that was so evident in him now.
Arcturus moved on to Saahren’s first command (a patrol ship) then a frigate, then a cruiser. Promoted to captain, then to admiral—
"I want to know about him," Allysha interrupted. "Where was he born? What’s his birthday? Where does he live? Is he married? How many kids?"
"I’m sorry ma’am, all of those things are classified as private. I’m not permitted to divulge private information." The regret in the IS’s modulated voice sounded genuine.
She gritted her teeth. She could go and find out anyway. Saahren hadn’t realized she didn’t need the techpack if she had direct access to a data point. But if she did that and he found out? After a moment’s hesitation, she tossed her head. What if he did?
Allysha sat down in the chair behind the too-large desk in the suite’s office and concentrated on the data point in the bulkhead, linking her implant to the data highways. She swayed as the sheer size and complexity filled her mind with colored lines, interfaces, logic gates. Wow. The security was impressive; nothing like she’d ever seen before. Just as well she had the tricks she’d learnt from the InfoDroid on Tisyphor. A challenge. How to get in without anybody knowing. First things first; what security layers were there, and who could do what?
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 239
