The Eternal Enemy (20 page)

“I'm not well,” she said. “Nor are the rest of your crewmates.”

“
Your
crewmates,” Markos corrected. “My ex-crewmates. Yes, I knew you would bring that up. Just remember, Cathy—they're
not
my crewmates, my brothers, or even of my race anymore. I feel no kinship toward them. Or to you.

“You should never have come here. You weren't invited. You inadvertently walked into something you know nothing about.” Markos stopped as the Old One returned.

The Old One walked directly to Straka's side holding a clear container that held a few sips of clear liquid. Straka sniffed it, detected no scent, and tasted it carefully. It was water. She nodded her thanks and took a swallow of it greedily, letting it cut through the layer of parched tissue lining her mouth and throat. Her stomach hurt.

She breathed raggedly a few times, overwhelmed by the refreshing drink, staring into the container as if searching for an answer to her problems in its bottom.

The subject had to be broached, and she decided it would be best to tackle the most difficult aspect of it first.

“You've got to help us,” she said.

“I do? Why?”

She looked at Markos, wiping her parched lips with the back of a dirt-encrusted hand. “If you don't, we'll die.”

Markos shook his head, then said, “I'm sorry about that. I truly am. But there's nothing I can do.”

“There's nothing you
can
do, or there's nothing you
will
do?” she asked.

“Either way.”

“Then I take it you're not a prisoner here?”

Markos's mouth changed shape, and she thought she saw the remnant of a Terran facial expression—a smile. “No, I'm not a prisoner.”

“Then why won't you help us?”

“A good question, Cathy. Unfortunately the answer is quite complex.”

“Too complex for a simple Terran like me to understand, huh?” she said.

“Don't push it, Cathy. I'll explain what has to be explained. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She suppressed her rising anger and frustration. She knew that if she let her emotions get the better of her, so would Markos. She needed to remain in control as much as possible. “Are you going to let me go back to the men?”

“Eventually.”

Straka nodded. “All right. What do you want from me? Why did you send for me?”

“I need to know why you're here.”

Straka shrugged, then slowly finished off the water. It was good, like a razor-sharp, ice-cold blade cutting through her body, slicing its way down her throat. She held up the container to the old Haber. “Could I have some more?”

A violent burst of nearly pure-white light pulsed from Markos's face and filled Straka with instant fear.

“The Haber you just addressed is not a house servant nor a messenger. Don't treat him like one. If you want something, ask me for it. Understand?”

Straka nodded, still stunned by Markos's outburst.

“You don't need any more water to talk.”

She glared at him. “All right. No more water. What do you want to talk about?”

“I've asked you once. What are you doing in this solar system?”

“Looking for you.”

“You found me. Why were you looking?”

“We were afraid for you. You were one of us, or don't you remember?” Straka asked, trying to put some bitterness into her voice. “With Van Pelt dead we thought you might join up with us. We thought you might have been a prisoner.”

“I remember, all right. But I don't buy it. Give me some credit. That sounds like something Van Pelt would have said. What's the real reason you came here? What did you expect to find? Riches? Power? What?”

Straka shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it's not important anymore. What's important is that we're here, and we're going to die unless you do something to help us.”

“You'll get no help from me until I find out what you're doing here.”

“Listen, Markos, Maxwell is as close to death as you can get. Kominski is off the deep end. Jackson and McGowen have been—”

“The reason, Cathy! The reason!”

“Tell me what you plan to do with us first. Are you just going to let us die?”

Markos leaned forward in his chair, and she looked at him long and hard, wishing she could read something in that face, see some sign of concern, of worry, or pleasure or pain. Anything would have helped.

“I've been thinking about that. It all depends on what happens here today. How much you choose to cooperate. But you haven't been so inclined.”

“Then there is something I can say or do to persuade you to help us?”

Markos moved his mouth into a perverted smile again. “There may be.”

“What is it?”

“Just tell me why you and the crew chased me from Tau Ceti to Alpha Indi. That's an awfully long distance for the cavalry to come to my rescue, Cathy. Why make the trip? Did NASA 2 send you? Are you acting on their orders?”

Straka stared at the floor and gnashed her teeth. How could she tell him now? It all seemed so foolish.

“Straka? You're going to tell me sooner or later.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Only if it has to be.”

What to tell him? she thought. I'm going to have to tell him
something
. But what? The truth?

Markos's eyes pulsed in time to Straka's heartbeat.

“There are methods I can use for getting at the truth, Cathy. A few flashes from my eyes will do it. Like it did to Van Pelt. You can see that I'm not too good at controlling Terrans with my eyes, but the choice is yours. I'm willing to take the chance.”

With my life, she thought. Of course he'd be willing. “Your own truth serum,” she said bitterly.

“Would you prefer bamboo shoots under your fingernails? Oh, sorry, no bamboo on Aurianta. I'm sure we could find a suitable substitute.”

“Humor, Markos? At a time like this?”

“Like what?” Markos demanded. “You're stalling. I'll give you one minute to decide.”

Straka knew now that no amount of lying would stop Markos from getting what he wanted. Her existence on Aurianta was precarious, with one foot in the grave. But she clung to the life she had, in no rush to spend her last few hours as a brain-wipe courtesy of Markos's eyes.

“All right,” she said. “No need for that kind of pressure. I'll tell you what you want to know. I suppose once I've done that, you'll kill us all.”

“Perhaps,” Markos said. “After I hear the reason for your coming here, we'll talk about your future. If you have one.”

Straka started at the beginning, at the time when she'd assisted Markos on the preliminary physiological tests and examinations on the Habers. She voiced her belief that the Habers were immortal and then explained why she had lied to the crew and had talked them into chasing Markos to Alpha Indi.

“Incredible, Cathy. All this way, all this trouble, just for a few extra years of life. I never thought you'd deceive the crew like that. Have they figured any of it out yet?”

Straka shook her head.

“What about NASA 2?”

“No. They don't know anything at all.”

“Nothing? You didn't contact them after what happened to Van Pelt?”

“No. For all they know, we're just so many atoms floating in tau-space.”

“So. Van Pelt never contacted them either.”

“No. They were never contacted. Ever.”

Markos rose from his chair and looked at the old Haber standing in the corner. Straka had completely forgotten about him.

“Did you hear that, Old One? They know nothing!” Markos said.

The old Haber flashed red through his eyes.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“Straka, you've given me the
Paladin
and more.”

“The
Paladin
?”

“Spoils of war.”

“But you're not—oh my God! You can't be at war with Earth?”

“No, I'm not. Nor is the Haber race, despite your aggressive actions on Gandji. We just attribute that to the insanity of a race. Despite what I say, they refuse to hold those actions against you.”

“Then you won't kill us?”

“I didn't say that. All I said was that we're not at war with the Terrans. And we plan to keep it that way. The less NASA 2 knows, the better.”

Straka sighed, shaking her head. “Now that I've told you what you wanted to know, let us go. Help us. Or are you going to let us die?”

“Take heart—life is very fluid if you let it be. As circumstances change, lives change.”

She knew then that Markos would not let the crew die. She watched as he advanced on her slowly, exuding power and control, letting it seep out of his eyes.

“I don't want to die,” Straka said softly.

Markos stopped right before her, his skin glistening with clashing colors.

“You're going to kill me,” she whispered.

“No,” Markos said, “but I should.”

16

The old Haber in the corner of the room started flashing colors at Markos. Straka watched the colors reflected off of Markos's face and neck. She had to look away. She was too drained to follow much more. Her body was weak—weakened more by the short but emotionally charged confrontation. Markos remained standing before her and she could see into his freakish body, see the alien colors and horrors too closely for her taste.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. A headache had started after drinking that water and it wasn't letting up. It started at the top of her scalp and extended down the sides of her head and into her neck. It felt as if some invisible hand rested there, squeezing tighter and tighter with incredible strength. Her stomach churned, and the gurgling sounds it made seemed overly loud in the quiet room. Her lips were sore and her mouth felt as if it were coated with cotton.

“We've reached a decision,” Markos said, looking down at Straka.

She looked into Markos's face. “What is it?” Her voice was getting hoarse.

“We have a proposition for you and any crew member who doesn't want to die in that compound.”

Straka knew better than to hope, and yet she couldn't help feeling a little optimistic. Clearly whatever Markos offered had to be better than dying out there.

“What's the proposition?” she asked warily.

“We're at war, and we need fighters. We want to hire you and your crew as mercenaries.”

“You can't be serious. Fight? Us? Have you any idea what the men are like now? Half of them can't even get to their feet. Maxwell's probably dead. Kominski's little more than a gibbering idiot. McGowen's too strange to really trust for long. And Jackson—God, Jackson! And you want to hire them as fighters?” She laughed once, a short exhalation through her nose. “You're crazier than I thought.”

“Maybe I am,” Markos said, “but the proposition still stands. We want to hire all of you.”

Straka nodded. Sure, she thought. Hire us. Why not?

Whatever conditions were tacked on could be dealt with. Now that she saw that Markos needed them, there would be a chance to negotiate, to make a few demands of her own. All she had to do was hold out until just the right time and she'd probably get the two things that mattered most—her life and the ship.

“I'm interested, but only interested.”

“Good. That's all I ask for now. If you agree to fight for us, we'll give you back the
Paladin
. It will be yours to command. Any of the crew who qualifies can have one of our ships to command. I'll supply any additional crew you may need.”

“To fight this war you've mentioned?”

“Yes. To fight the war.”

“Against who?”

“Not Earth, if that's what you're worried about. We can talk about the Hydrans later. If you agree.”

“Hydrans?”

Markos nodded.

“And you need us to fight them?”

“Yes. After what you did on Gandji, I think you should jump at the chance to set things right with the Habers. This is your opportunity.”

“Fight or be killed? Is that it?”

“Yes. I'm offering you a position in my … forces.”

“What do you need
us
for? You've got Habers who can fight, don't you? Or was that armed contingent you kept sending into the compound incapable of fighting?”

“They're capable of fighting, all right. And killing.”

“Then what do you need us for?”

“I told you before, the answer is complex. I'm willing to explain it now. Are you willing to listen?”

Straka nodded. “Sure. If I fall out of the chair, though, I'll probably be unconscious. Or dead.”

“I'll run it by you as quickly as possible. I'll fill in the details later if necessary.”

Markos began explaining about the ten children and how he'd mutated them, and about Triand's battle on Theta Alnon.

“I thought he was strong and cunning enough to win, but as soon as he arrived on the planet, I realized my mistake,” Markos said. “I could tell by what he was thinking that he really didn't understand what war and fighting are all about. He approached his little push into the enemy's camp as a different kind of experience.”

Straka rubbed her forehead to try to ease the pain, but it didn't help. “I don't understand what you mean by ‘a different kind of experience.'”

“He primed himself for the battle,” Markos said, “like any creature would. But the things that worried him should not have been a concern, and the way he approached the skirmish was all wrong. And when it came to his life or some alien's life, he lost. It was
life
he was dealing with, and he never really understood that.

“The whole thing stems from this attitude. He was immortal, Cathy, just as you suspected.”

Hearing her suspicions confirmed gave Straka a jolt of adrenaline, clearing her mind for the moment.