by Susan Grant
Jordan’s steps faltered. Speak of the devil. Natalie was sitting on the floor cushions. Someone else was there, too, a head silhouetted in the dim light. Jordan said, “Hey, Nat. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
Natalie laughed. “I don’t think so.”
A man spoke up. “It’s me, Jordan—Ben.”
Squinting, Jordan bent forward as she walked over. “It is you.” She made a face. “And why shouldn’t I suspect anything was going on with you two, hmm?”
Natalie snorted. “Because I’d bust his ass, that’s why.”
“Right,” Ben shot back. “Why don’t you try me sometime and see.”
“Maybe I will. And I’ll bust your ass.”
Jordan laughed softly. They probably had no idea how much their banter helped take the edge off her anxiety.
Natalie tapped the cushion with manicured nails. “Join us.”
Jordan sank onto the cushion. “I can’t sleep. What are you guys up to?”
“We’re just philosophizing about life and death,” Ben explained. “Nothing too heavy.”
Jordan sniffed the air. “And nipping at the cooking brandy, too, I see.”
“Cooking brandy, hell,” Natalie said. “Cognac from First Class.” She lifted her small glass to the overhead light. “Courvoisier. VSOP Exclusif. But pick your poison.” As graceful as a cat, she unlocked the cabinet below the entertainment area where she and Jordan had stored the remaining miniature bottles of airline liquor. Only the two of them knew the digital combination.
Making herself comfortable, Jordan cracked a can of tonic water and poured the contents into an opaque white cup. “Remember limes?” she murmured wistfully as she stirred in the contents of a tiny bottle of Tanqueray.
“Yeah, limes.” Ben gazed at his drink cupped in his hands. Jordan noticed that his nails were bitten to the quick. “Beer is what I miss most, I think.”
Natalie sighed. “No, chocolate. Godiva chocolate.”
As Ben and Natalie lost themselves in memories of lost pleasures, Jordan made her mind go blank. Soon her drink imparted its numbing warmth. There was nothing better than alcohol to sand away the sharp edges of anxiety. It was a good thing that they were hoarding the last of the liquor, or she might have been tempted to develop a drinking problem.
Ben broke the amiable silence. “You look like hell, Jordan.”
“Yeah. Well. I feel like hell.”
They lapsed into silence. This time the atmosphere was tense, reflecting their unease.
“Maybe Kào doesn’t know the whole story about Earth,” Ben said out of the blue. “And maybe those red-eyed assistants do. They know something we don’t. I can see it in their smug little eyes.”
Jordan shuddered. That Talagar Heest, the guard she’d passed in the corridor—she wouldn’t soon forget the look he’d given her.
Ben yanked on his cuffs. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel good about this, Jordan. About us. Call it a hunch . . . a bad hunch. I’ve had them before.” His eyes took on that fearful look that had characterized his first days on the Savior. “And they’re usually right.”
Jordan lurched to her feet. “That’s it. No more waiting. It’s killing me. Kào had an appointment tonight, but he’s got to be done by now. Dillon’s mapped out the ship—in glorious detail. Why waste all that work? Let’s track down Mr. Vantaar-Moray and find out what the hell is going on. I want to see that flick they made of Earth. Then we’ll know what they know, and we can go from there. Right now we know nothing.” She wriggled her feet into her slip-ons. “Who’s game?”
Ben stared up at her. “You mean . . . now?”
“Yes, now.”
Ben’s eyes shifted to the exit, sealed shut during the night hours—from the inside, thankfully. “Are we allowed? To leave, I mean? We’re in quarantine.”
“No, we’re not. We’re restricted to quarters, remember?”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Sorry, Ben. I don’t care what the rules say. I’ve been out twice now and haven’t seen anyone guarding this area. I’m going. I promised my little girl I was coming home. And when I make a promise, I keep it. It’s only a promise to one person, my word to a single individual, a child, but it’s everything to me.” Her throat closed, and she turned away quickly to hide the emotion she knew flared in her face. Then she started walking across Town Square.
“Uh-uh. No way. You’re not going alone.” Natalie wedged her feet into her spiky sandals, her fuchsia toenails glittering in the overhead lights. “I’m coming with you,” she said and sashayed after Jordan.
Ben jogged after them. “No, that’s my job. I’m the purser, the second-in-command. Nat, you need to stay here and watch the store.” His eyes shifted to Jordan. “If that’s okay with you, Captain.”
Jordan was so startled that Ben had volunteered to come along, she could barely speak. Then her brain snapped into gear. “We’ll bring our translators and the maps.” She dispatched Natalie in search of both. Then she told Ben, “Let’s change into the jumpsuits they gave us. We’re going to stand out in the crowd, but we’ll stand out more dressed this way.”
A storage shelf contained hundreds of the pale orange outfits. Ben and Jordan tugged clean, pressed jumpsuits over their clothing.
Natalie rejoined them near the exit hatch. Jordan pressed a glowing red rectangle on the door control panel. The rectangle changed from red to green and the door slid up into the ceiling. Then she stepped into the corridor.
Cool, dry air slapped her in the face, but it didn’t alleviate her usual vertigo from seeing the floor bowing upward to the ceiling. She squinted, working on her balance.
Ben caught her by the elbow. “You okay?”
“I’m still not used to it.” She pointed at the walkway. “That doesn’t bother you?” That Ben wasn’t bothered by the interior of the immense starship was a good sign. Maybe taking him along might be less of a liability than she thought. As she’d hoped, after his laptop outburst he seemed to be coming around. Mentally she crossed her fingers. She’d need him tonight.
“Nope. Doesn’t bother me.” He peered up the bowed path, then at her. “But you’re a pilot.”
She groaned. “One has nothing to do with the other.” She’d spent the day explaining that, it seemed. She faced Natalie. “While we’re gone, you’re in charge.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.” Natalie gave Jordan a mock salute. “Everything will be under control.”
Jordan smiled. “I have no doubt. Listen, I don’t know how long this will take.”
“I’ll wait up for you guys,” Natalie assured her.
Jordan squeezed her hand. The woman’s fingers were icy. Then she turned to Ben. “You ready?”
His throat bobbed. “Ready.”
“Let’s roll.” Maps in hand, they took off into unknown territory.
Their first stop was the storage locker Kào had opened on the way to the arena. “Jackpot!” More than one white jacket was stored inside. She pulled two folded garments from the compartment. “Their janitors wear these.”
They shrugged on the jackets. “Alien windbreakers,” Ben said.
“Exactly.” His sense of humor was a good sign. In fact, he seemed a bit giddy. From adrenaline or booze, she wasn’t sure, but at least he wasn’t weeping.
“Where to now?” he asked from under his hood.
She read the map, then peered down the corridor. “We’re on Sublevel Three. The officer’s quarters are on Upper Level One. We can take the shuttle. I remember how to get there.”
With purpose, they resumed their walk. It was late, but there were a few others out and about. Ben refused to make eye contact, keeping his gaze trained on the floor. She, on the other hand, had no choice but to be observant. Not only was she in charge of getting them from one place to another, if she were to bump into any Talagar types, she wanted advance warning.
Silent, they waited for the shuttle. A man ambled up beside them. “Greetings,” he said.
“Greetings.” Jordan could hear her heart beating. Hell, she could hear Ben’s heart beating. Ben nodded, and the man turned his attention back to the shuttle station.
After a few moments, he frowned. Jordan’s stomach twisted in knots. She hoped he didn’t try talking to them; they’d hidden their translators in their pockets. “It should have arrived already,” he grumbled. Impatiently he yanked up his sleeve and aimed his wrist computer at a flat, featureless panel that Jordan thought was part of the wall. In seconds, the shuttle glided up.
Jordan exchanged a sheepish glance with Ben. “It’s a good thing he walked up,” she whispered in his ear when they’d boarded, sitting out of earshot of the man. “Or we’d still be standing there.”
The shuttle ride was uncomfortably long. At a few stops, someone got on or someone got off. She and Ben sat, heads lowered, taking in the scene from under their white hoods. A curious rider glanced at their orange pants, but didn’t appear troubled by the outfits. The white jackets worked well at hiding who they really were.
She was pretty good at reading Key, but worked hard at discerning the symbols flashing on viewers overhead. When “Level One” appeared, she took Ben by the arm and left the shuttle behind.
She stopped to consult the map. Ben peered over her shoulder. “Where to next?”
“We take a right and keep going. We’re still pretty far away. I’d guess a ten- or fifteen-minute walk before we get to the crew quarters, and then a little farther after that to the officers’ rooms. They’re grouped at the bow of the ship.”
More confident now, they headed in that direction. Jordan wondered what Kào would say—or do—when she showed up at his doorstep, unexpected. The vulnerable feminine side of her that was starting to like him a little too much hoped he was alone.
As they neared the crew quarters, they heard noise and voices coming from around a bend in the corridor. There was music, too, faint with an undertone of a pulsing beat. “Someone’s stereo?” Jordan wondered aloud. “Or do these people even have stereos as we know them?”
“Whatever it is, it must be an incredible sound system.”
“It is even better up close,” a husky feminine voice said. In accented English.
Jordan spun around. Standing behind them was a woman whose flesh was so pale that Jordan imagined she could see right through it. The sleeveless, short, skin-tight black dress she wore on her slender body only emphasized the lack of pigment in her hair and skin. But the amused red eyes were what Jordan remembered and wouldn’t forget. The officer smiling at them was none other than Trist.
Chapter Nineteen
Automatically Jordan’s eyes focused on Ensign Pren’s small nose. It gave no hint that it had been broken, which would have marred what was really a very pretty face. Trist owed her exotic, elfin look to eyes that tipped up at the outer ends. All the Talagars had that appearance, but Trist’s was more pronounced.
“You need an escort, yes?” She sounded breathless, as if she’d run hard to catch them. Her English was accented but fluent enough to make Jordan wish she could speak Key this well. “I am glad I heard of your departure. I did not know if I would intercept you in time, but here you are.” Her lavender lips curved into a smug, self-congratulatory smile.
Jordan shot Ben an irritated glance. They’d been caught less than fifteen minutes after setting out. And Trist sounded positively gleeful about it.
“Good to think of wearing protectors,” Trist went on. “It makes you look not like a refugee, but eager to clean the ship.” Her red eyes settled on Ben. “Ah. Ben Kathwari. He will not clean ship.” With that, she laughed, husky and deep. “I have heard of you.”
“So the rumors have gotten around,” Ben said with an arrogance Jordan wasn’t sure he intended.
“Not ‘around.’ But I hear.” She winked at them. “Trist hears all. And I must see all, too.” She waved a hand at them. “Because I find you, yes?”
Jordan’s chin edged up. “Let’s not prolong the suffering. If you have to take us back, just do it already.”
“Do you want to go back?”
That was not the response Jordan had expected. “No.”
“Then I won’t.”
The conversation was going every which way other than what Jordan expected. But she’d been given the chance to flee, and she was going to take it. “We’re late for an appointment. Places to go, people to see, you know the drill. Goodbye, Trist.”
“Not goodbye yet.” Trist reached behind Jordan’s neck and fumbled with the collar of her orange jumpsuit. Her smooth, warm skin was a shock; she’d expected corpselike cold. There was a sharp tug, and Trist pulled back her hand. In her palm was a tiny square silver-colored rectangle. It resembled a computer chip. “Your locator. If you wear this, everyone will know where you go.”
“We have homing devices in our clothes?” Jordan asked.
“Yes.” Trist acted as if tracking devices in clothing were just another functional accessory, like belts or gloves. Next, Trist reached for Ben’s collar and jerked the locator loose. “It is how I found you.”
The aliens had sedative gas that killed unborn babies, showers that eradicated bacteria, so why not clothes that told everyone who wanted to know where you were going? Thank God she hadn’t worn a jumpsuit on her excursions with Kào.
Trist took the locators to an elevator station. Nonchalantly she tossed the chips down the empty shaft. “There,” she said, wiping her delicate hands. “Now we can go.”
“We?” Jordan asked. She still hadn’t decided if this was a good-twin-bad-twin mixup, and she didn’t want the evil twin tagging along. “Kào Vantaar-Moray summoned us to his quarters,” she lied, and badly, too.
“I don’t think so. He is not there. But I will bring you to where you can await him. Come. I am your official escort. You will follow, yes?”
Trist took the lead, her pointed black shoes click-clacking purposefully over the floor. The fabric of her dress was encrusted with beads or tiny pieces of glass that glowed—literally glowed—some coming on as others winked off, giving a mesmerizing three-dimensional effect. And her dress was so short that it barely covered her buttocks. Jordan hated to think of what would happen if the woman bent over to pick something up. Ben must have been contemplating the same thing, but with a different attitude, if the male interest she saw in his face was any indication. Apparently, his aversion to the Talagars extended only to the males of the species.
Jordan lifted her hands. “I have no idea what’s going on. Do you?”
“No.” Ben took her by the elbow and urged her along, his eyes fixed on Trist’s rear end. “But if we’d walked around with those locators, security would have found us and brought us right back. She helped us.”
“Did she? Or is this just the part where the cat plays with the mouse? What does your hunch meter say?”
“That the cat definitely wants to play,” he acknowledged. “But we’re not the mouse.”
“Who is? Kào?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know.”
Trist stopped in front of a doorway. From inside, Jordan could hear music throbbing, the same music she’d noticed earlier. “Welcome to The Black Hole,” Trist said and waved at the open door.
At second glance, the entrance wasn’t open exactly, but covered with a film. It wavered, transparent and rainbow-colored, like a soap bubble.
Trist answered Jordan’s unspoken question. “Nano-computers in liquid.” She put her thumb and index finger close together to indicate something tiny. “Computers too small to see. They talk to our personal computers.” Trist pointed to her wrist and the belt around her waist. “And read the data. Then it is recorded how many times we come and how long we stay.”
Ben grimaced. “Orwellian to the max.”
His comment bewildered Trist. Still, her grasp of English was amazing. But she was a linguist, after all.
“Do not worry,” Trist said. “By the time they notice you come through with no computer
s, you will be gone. Ready to go inside? Good.” She lowered her voice. “Say nothing and look at nothing. Keep head down and follow me.”
She pressed through the film. It molded around her body like a sheet of lamination. Then, with a barely audible pop, the membrane snapped closed behind her.
“After you?” Ben asked.
Jordan gave him a thanks-a-lot frown. Then she took a breath, held it, and pushed through the film. It clung damply to her skin for a fraction of a second. On the other side, she felt as if nothing had touched her at all.
Ben walked through next. “Pretty cool,” he said.
The Black Hole was a bar, a luxurious bar. The crew was a small one, and only a few people sat in plush floating chairs and couches. Music played, sounding Indian to her ears, with a pulsing, sexual beat. But no one danced. Maybe it was due to a difference between Alliance culture and hers, or ship’s rules, she didn’t know. But fun wasn’t lacking. Some were engaged in conversation; others watched walls that showed scenes—a beach with two suns, a forest like the one in the holo-arena. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed that the wall-watchers were wearing soft helmets and gloves that were attached to computers. Virtual reality suits?
As she and Ben followed Trist deeper into the bar, from under the lip of her hood Jordan searched the crowd for Kào. According to Trist, he came here, but she’d have never guessed it. Warm and sensual—somewhere he’d learned to kiss that way. Maybe it was here. It hit her how much she didn’t know about him, whom he hung out with after hours, whom he saw, or slept with. . . .
She clenched her jaw. That wasn’t important now. Getting home to Boo was. Kào had told her to look to the future and not the past, but if there was a chance her past still existed, then she wanted it back.
Trist took them to a table surrounded by six buoyant chairs. Ben’s hand closed around her bicep and squeezed. Jordan’s gaze flew in the direction that Ben jerked his chin. Talagars!
There weren’t many crew members of Talagar descent on the Savior, but of the ones that were, it seemed to Jordan that all except Trist were in attendance at a drink-and-food-laden table for six. Her heart beat harder. She saw their red eyes, thought of the atrocities she’d read about, and what their kin had done to Kào. Not kin, she reminded herself; these men were Alliance citizens. Yet the prejudice remained. She hated it in herself; she’d never before judged people by their race. Yet something about these men made her skin crawl. Maybe it wasn’t their race at all, but the evil she sensed within them as individuals. Curiously, she didn’t exactly feel that way with Trist.
