In Enemy Hands

by K S Augustin

  A different sensation. Moon had only an instant to register that the gravity field had been reestablished as she fell to the floor, crashing through the shelves that lined the wall, before bouncing off the long, low cabinet beneath them. Her head hit the side of the bed and she lay there, stunned. The klaxon continued its wail.

  She opened her eyes. Lines of light blurred, then sharpened into the strips of amber emergency lighting above her head. She felt a weight pinning down her left hip and shoved at the tilted length of a shelf, moving it in small, rough jerks.

  The siren ceased and along with it the thumping. Then came the sound of metallic scraping against the faux-timber of her bed. It built up gradually, as if approaching from the end of a long tunnel. It was several seconds before she realized that she was still pushing against the fallen shelf.

  Moon dropped her hands, closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, not fighting the wave of exhaustion that flooded her. In complete silence, she heard, rather than felt, a small “bump,” then the low hum of machinery behind the wall. It was one of the ever-present background noises on the Differential, but not as forceful as it usually was. The emergency life-support system had just been activated.

  She should get up now. She needed to find out whether Srin was okay, and how much of her lab was still intact. Moon struggled against the shelf, at the same time wriggling backwards until her knees were finally clear of the obstruction. She winced as she folded her legs. Pain shot up her back and through her shoulders, but she kept moving. There wasn’t time at the moment to speculate on whether she had broken anything—besides, she would find out soon enough. She had to find Srin.

  The air was stuffy but, at the same time, disconcertingly cool. Moon clambered over her bed, making her way to the door. There were aches associated with various parts of her body, but nothing that morphed into sharp pain. Still, the added discomfort was enough to set her limping, and she knew she had sustained at least heavy bruising on her left leg and hip.

  Pressing one hand against her thigh, she stopped at the door. It refused to open. That made sense when she thought about it. Only the most critical functions were on emergency power. Moon scanned the wall panel next to the door and saw the barest outline of a rounded rectangle against the faint yellow-orange illumination. She reached down and pressed against the edges until one touch sent the panel springing open. Even in the dim light, Moon saw only two large buttons, one lighter than the other in the scant glimmering. Neither of them was lit.

  One button looked almost red, so the other one must have been green. Taking a breath, she hit the darker button. At first she thought nothing would happen, then the seals released with a hiss and the door slid slowly open. Moon limped down the corridor, tentatively stepped into her lab and looked around.

  In all honesty, it could have been worse. The strips of lighting illuminated some spaces, leaving deep pools of shadow elsewhere. The general picture was not as devastating as it could have been. While several data banks had toppled over, the squat meta-library unit was still magically upright, if out of place. The heavy-water simulation tank, bolted to the floor and closed off, was still sealed tight.

  Two clearboards had been damaged, most likely when a databank unit fell to the floor after gravity was reestablished, but the rest were still anchored to floor and ceiling. Other light furniture was strewn about the room, overturned and messy but still mostly intact. Moon had faced greater destruction when she returned to her lab at the Phyllis Centre after her detention.

  She picked her way to the lab’s entrance, knowing to look in advance for the override panel by the door, but it was more difficult to find this time. The ceiling of the lab was much higher than in her cabin, and the emergency lighting did not brighten the area where she was standing. She cursed, briefly considered looking for a small portable light, discarded the thought and felt for the panel instead.

  She hadn’t been aware of the total silence in her small pocket of the ship until the door sluggishly opened at her command. Even though every panel was covered with insulation, Moon heard the sounds of rushed movement—thumps and vibrations—resonating through the corridors, along with chopped-off, unintelligible shouts. The chill air reminded her that she was still in her light sleeping clothes, but she ignored the temperature and started walking down the corridor, in the direction of where she roughly knew Srin’s quarters to be.

  She had been expecting a corridor filled with smoke, but it was unnaturally clear. She thought she detected a hint of burnt circuitry in the air, but wasn’t sure if that was correct or she was imagining things. Maybe there were cabins that had sustained damage, maybe some might even be on fire through a combination of sparks and flammable material, but the airtight doors throughout the Differential kept the danger contained.

  The heaviness in her hip and thigh was now coalescing into a throbbing as the shock of the situation wore off, and Moon’s fingers bit even deeper into her flesh in an attempt to alleviate the pain through pressure.

  At the first corridor junction, she stepped forward and looked down a curve to her left, where she finally found the source of some of the activity she’d been hearing. Two soldiers had a large access panel open, a tray of cushioned tools between them on the floor. One of the men was taking readings from the interior of the panel, while the other waited impatiently, taking instruments out of their shells then replacing them with a dull snap. He looked up as Moon cleared the corridor.

  “You’re a civilian, aren’t you?” he asked brusquely.

  Moon merely nodded.

  “Go back to your quarters.”

  But she wasn’t going to be put off that easily. “What happened here?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. The captain will communicate to you in due time. Please return to your quarters.” He put the polite word in there but there wasn’t anything optional in what he was saying.

  “Okay.”

  Moon said what was expected of her, slipped back to the junction of the two corridors, then kept going, taking the right fork this time. She knew the military mind well enough by now to know the soldier had already forgotten her. But what were they working on? Cursing silently, she wished she had pulled up even the basic schematics available for the Differential when she first came on board, but such an idea hadn’t occurred to her. Now she wondered if it was a problem with the navigation system, or propulsion, or something else she had no clue about, that led to the disconcerting sensation of frictionless sliding she had experienced.

  The noise from the right side of the corridor increased as she walked, and she slowed her steps. Unlike the serenity of the other part of the ship, where she had happened upon the two soldiers, the situation here was much more chaotic. The faint smell of burning wires that she had sniffed when she stepped out of her lab was stronger—an acrid stench that tickled her nose and kick-started a feeling of panic deep in her belly. Even more alarmingly, there was another odour insinuating itself into the mix, an aroma of scorched clothing—and roasted flesh.

  Moon knew she should be running towards the source of her worry but her feet refused to move. Did she want to confront the truth of what waited at the end of the corridor’s curve? What if she found out who had suffered from the injuries she could smell? What if it was…Srin?

  Fear grabbed Moon by the throat, making it difficult for her to swallow. After being punished for her innocence, she wondered if this was going to be yet another time that the universe treated her with such casual and brutal disdain. She hadn’t wanted to depend on another person, but Srin had somehow become indispensable to her wellbeing.

  Someone brushed past her, heading towards the chaos, knocking her from her reverie. Moon saw his dark blue form in a daze, blinked and looked down at herself, as though she was only now aware that her clothing was completely inappropriate for the situation. And it was still cold. But she couldn’t turn around and go back to her cabin now. She feared she wouldn’t have the courage to step outside her lab again.
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  Please, not Srin.

  Swallowing, Moon walked forward jerkily. Several doors radiated from a widening of the corridor at the end of the section. A knot of people congregated in the centre, half of them kneeling, the other half watching, waiting to help, or repairing the mass of blackened and smoking wires that lay exposed behind part of the bulkhead. With the emergency lighting still the major source of illumination, the figures melded into one another, difficult to make out. Splashes of faint light hugged edges more clearly and Moon could tell from the jagged contours of the wall that the panel had not been removed by the technicians now milling around it, but had been blown out by the force of a small explosion.

  She instantly thought of the cargo bay—of her precious star-maker equipment installed there, of its intricate network of fields, wires and nanoprocessor technologies. But the mental prompt fled in an instant when she thought she recognised a thatch of familiar mid-toned hair among several pairs of legs. Not standing, but near the floor.

  Oh no! Please tell me he hasn’t—

  The head moved, rose and she breathed a sigh of palpable relief as Srin stood and turned around. He caught her gaze on him. Without hesitation, he roughly elbowed his way through the surrounding men, grabbed her by the shoulders and searched her face intently.

  “Are you all right?” he asked urgently.

  There was another lump in her throat—she was sure it was as large as the ship itself—and she nodded, trying to smile as she blinked an errant tear away.

  He sighed and enfolded her in his arms, crushing her to him. It hurt, and Moon found it hard to draw a breath, but she didn’t care. Srin was alive, even though he bore the strong stench of scorched fire on him.

  He released her a heartbeat later. “Do you know what happened?”

  “No. I thought you might know.”

  Srin shook his head. Despite both of them being in fine shape, there was worry in his eyes and anxiety creased his forehead. “I went for an exercise session. When I came back, Hen and I spoke. Just as I turned to enter my cabin….” There was no need to finish the sentence. The evidence of the corridor explosion was all around them. “We’re in normal space now,” he added.

  Normal space now? It hadn’t occurred to her before, but implicit in Srin’s statement was the fact that the accident must have occurred in hyperspace. If anyone aboard the ship confirmed that, then the Differential had been very lucky to escape disaster in that zone between universes.

  He looked beyond her. A second later she heard a voice asking her to move aside. Two men with a mobile med-bed passed her briskly.

  “It’s Hen,” Srin said, watching her as she followed the men’s actions.

  She flicked him a brief, uncomprehending look then turned back to the medics. The people standing and squatting on the floor cleared as they lifted a body onto the med-bed. It was only when they moved him that she noticed Savic’s body glistening wetly in the faint orange lighting, and the black patches on his clothes and parts of his skin.

  Blood?

  “He was standing in front of the panel when it exploded,” Srin explained. “At first there was nothing I could do. The gravity cut out and it was pitch-black.”

  Yes, Moon remembered that bit well.

  “When the emergency power and lighting came on, I used the comms to contact the infirmary, but there was still no gravity.”

  The medics covered Savic up to his neck with a thin, flashing blanket, strapped him down then began walking back in Moon’s direction.

  “He fell quite a distance when the gravity came back on.”

  The men, med-bed between them, brushed past her.

  “I should follow,” Srin said, after a small hesitation. “Just in case there’s anything I can help with.”

  “Of course.” Moon knew her voice was distracted, but her mind was full of conflicting emotions. She faced him and gave him a quick, tight smile. “I’ll be along after I’ve checked the lab and cargo bay.”

  Srin nodded tersely and, after squeezing her shoulder with his hand, trailed after the medical team.

  To distract herself, Moon hurried down to the cargo bay the moment full lighting was re-established. She stepped past scorched panels and groups of intent soldiers who would have otherwise intimidated her, without looking. Her pace quickened as she reached Engineering, until she was almost at a run when she reached the cargo bay doors.

  The metal panes refused to open on her approach, but Moon was an old hand at this by now. Unhesitatingly, she searched for the override hatch, whipping it open with impatient fingers. Instead of a button, a sturdy handle filled the space. With a grunt, Moon pulled down on it and the doors slid open with an echoing clang.

  It was like stepping into a church, a place of infinite wonder and respectful veneration. Before her, was the concrete manifestation of everything she had been working years towards.

  It was strange that, after so many years of studying and manipulating the varying phenomena of stellar plasma, Moon had never seen a positron-shielded fission bomb crucible. The Science Directorate had no problem providing her with the latest in computing power and ever-more-powerful simulation tanks. But this…this represented a new dimension in spending. What had inspired the investment of the equivalent of a planetary budget?

  What had changed in the past two years? What exactly had propelled her from the outskirts of lucrative applied research right into its centre, with an entire spaceship and a fission bomb factory at her disposal? Not to mention the ultimate in galactic secrets, Srin Flerovs. Was it really as Srin and Drue had hinted—that her research might provide a weapon to use against living stars? Somehow, she still couldn’t believe that the Republic was that evil.

  She walked forward gingerly, even though there was no need. A giant ball four metres in diameter dominated the modified cargo bay. Its uppermost curve almost touched the matte-compound-covered ceiling, and the ceiling’s texture accentuated the smooth, unmarked surface of the sphere.

  There was nothing out of place in the bay, which was as it should be. Moon had been adamant about the placement and configuration of the large launch area. Besides the crucible and its supporting structures, only a handful of consoles dotted the floor, none of them easily movable.

  She moved closer and the sphere’s mirrorlike surface distorted her figure into perfect elongated curves over its surface. She wanted to touch it, run her rough human fingers over its sleek purity, but was afraid she might leave a mark—some oiliness from her fingertips, perhaps.

  She abhorred the idea of marring its flawlessness in any way. This was where her fission packet would be formed, what the military so crudely referred to as a stellar missile. She eyed the surface carefully from various angles, but couldn’t see any obvious cracks or bends anywhere.

  On the opposite side, towards the ship’s hull, the sphere was connected to a tube, lined along its length with field generators. She walked around the crucible and examined the tube’s exterior. The generators, housed beneath the metal skin at carefully calculated intervals, would switch on and off at precisely timed intervals, moving the formed packet along and accelerating it at the same time.

  Extra reinforcing had been added at the junction of tube and hull. Beyond that, an extra array of magnetic field generators was positioned around the tube’s outlet, helping guide the packet to its ultimate destination. Being the stuff of stars itself, Moon knew the packet would emerge looking like a miniature sun, shooting through black space and tunnelling its way into the core of a white dwarf star. The target had already been chosen, and was merely awaiting final measurements and confirmation. It was a DZ-type star in M1908, otherwise known as the Suzuki Mass. And there, her small living controlled explosion would hopefully begin the reactions that would bring the star to life again.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw no obvious damage to any part of the crucible’s delivery mechanism. Briskly, feeling more confident, she walked over to one of the monitoring consoles and activate
d it. While she didn’t know the specifics of how her machinery interfaced with the Differential, she knew that it was hooked into the main propulsion systems—for the amount of energy it required, it had to be. As she anticipated, the console hummed to life a second later.

  Moon read the information that scrolled past her eyes as the machine began its sweep of connected equipment. It appeared that everything in the cargo bay had been secured and fortified so well even a hyperspace accident couldn’t affect it. She was sure she didn’t have enough reserves to run a full semi-simulation diagnostic, but a deep light-level run should give her enough information to check the crucible and tube’s integrity. Without hesitation, she started the test, directing output to her lab, then stepped back. There was nothing more she could do here. The diagnostic she had initiated would take two hours to run. There was a mess in the lab she should start clearing, but she found herself reluctant to get going. It seemed she was clearing up too many work spaces these days. But she couldn’t order soldiers to do the job for her, either. They were busy with their own problems.

  With a last glance at the gleaming crucible, Moon exited the bay. Now that her most immediate worries were out of the way—Srin was safe, her equipment was safe—she had time to reflect on her reaction to Hen Savic’s injury.

  She was happy about it.

  She knew it made her look like the basest kind of human, but she didn’t care. What the man had done to Srin, pumping him full of drugs for almost two decades just so he’d have an intellectual marvel he could vicariously live through, was vile beyond measure. And Moon knew she wasn’t gentle or charitable enough to let such an atrocity slide just because its perpetrator was hurt.

  Lips set in a grim line, Moon strode back to her cabin. It might be too much to expect that the bathroom was fully functional, so she contented herself with stripping off her creased sleeping clothes and changing into something appropriate to the work that lay ahead. When she took off her pants, she realised that she had been barefoot the entire time—from the time she woke to that terrible siren, to her walk down to the cargo bay and back. She laughed, and it sounded a bit hysterical even to her own ears.