Contact (10 page)

“My glasses,” he told her. “We need them in order to communicate. Bring them to me.” He tried to gesture with his bound hands, but everyone tensed. A man, flame-haired and sharp-featured, held a device that Kào assumed was a weapon, and his expression reflected a disconcerting eagerness to do him bodily harm.

Again he tried to communicate what he needed. This time he was more insistent, and waited until he had the Earth leader’s full attention before he gestured to his eyes.

To his relief, she understood. A shorter female crew member gave the glasses to the leader, who then turned to Kào and offered them to him.

He fumbled trying to put them on with bound hands. The leader saw his difficulty and helped him. Her warm hands slid over his cheeks. Soft skin. Firm fingers.

A frisson of awareness shot along his spine.

He held himself very still, avoided meeting her gaze. How could an accidental caress spark desire in a body and soul he’d left for dead? He didn’t know what to think of that, or of the women whose touch had affected him so. But now was not the time or place for further reflection. “The other conversion-glasses,” he said, and gestured. “Put them on now.”

As she donned the glasses, an array of primitive weapons remained aimed distressingly at various parts of his anatomy. He pretended to ignore them, just as he habitually disregarded the stares aimed at him by his father’s crew. The latter were to be expected, he supposed—the stares. Not only was he the commodore’s son, he was an infamous ex-soldier with a spectacular military failure in his file. Which of the two conjured more speculation? Who knew? He wasn’t motivated to figure it out.

Frowning, he gathered his thoughts and focused on his
task. The first lines of dialogue would set the tone for the rest of their conversation. “We gathered a vast amount of data during the brief time we orbited Earth,” he began.

The Earth leader’s hands shot up, presumably to tear off the conversion-glasses. But she must have recognized the translation of his words scrolling across the inside of the lenses, for her arms froze in midair.

“What is it, Jordan?” the male crew member demanded, and Kào read the words as they were translated. “It’s too dangerous. Take them off—”

She waved her hand. “Shush!”

Kào continued slowly, enunciating each word. “Using that database,” he explained, “and what was collected in recording your conversations within your vessel, the ship’s linguist was able to translate much of your language into ours, Key. Do you see the words I speak in my language presented as captions in yours?”

Streams of data flickered behind the leader’s lenses. Her lips parted slightly as she took in information that he hoped she’d comprehend. “Yes . . .”

“What’s happening?” her people asked her. “What’s going on?”

“The glasses are translating his words. I see them floating in front of me.” She tried to reach for them, but of course her fingers closed over nothing but air. “It’s incredible. The technology . . .”

Her explanation launched intense muttered discussion among the refugees. Some of what Kào heard was translated by the conversion-glasses. Much was lost.

She gave her people a halting summary of what he’d said. Mayhem followed. Not all of what they said translated properly. He watched their body language and guessed that they were arguing about his origins.

One of the females dressed similarly to the leader made a panicky sound of dismay. She tucked her arms to her
chest and blurted, “Heaven help us. He’s an
alien!
”

“Oh, puhleeze,” another uniformed woman said. She was taller, darker-skinned, and sported long, curved claws on the ends of her fingers. “He looks too human to be an alien.”

“Well, he doesn’t look like a terrorist, either.”

“What exactly does a terrorist look like, Ann, if you don’t mind my asking?”

The shorter, rounder female’s gaze settled on him. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “He just doesn’t look . . . evil.”

Her companion snorted. “Right. Ted Bundy’s dates said that about him, too.”

The Earth leader made a sound of exasperation. With her forearm she wiped damp hair away from her forehead and exchanged a glance with her male co-worker that revealed her impatience with her crew. She appeared to have control of these people, but on the fringes disorder simmered. Babies cried and older children whined; the air was thick with odors; adult voices combined in hushed conversation and shouts. Body odor was rife. So many people of so many ages and backgrounds, drawn together by fate. Yet their animated humanity attracted him.

It occurred to Kào how sterile his shipboard life had been since his release. Orderly, predictable. Not at all like this chaos, this assault on his senses. To his shock, he couldn’t deny that he found the experience fascinating, almost pleasurable, in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. It stirred something deep within him, that much was certain. It was clear that he shared something in common with these people, something that no one else onboard the
Savior
did.

They were orphans of destroyed worlds, he and these refugees. Survivors, who could never return home. At the time Moray had rescued him, Kào had been too young to comprehend his loss. But as an adult, he felt it as a deficit in his soul, an intuitive grief that was an integral part of
him. Only now, among these Earth survivors, did he have a hunch as to what it was that he’d lost.

Kào exhaled, laid his aching head back as the noise of the arguing refugees blended with the buzzing in his skull. True, he’d taken on this task because his father had asked. But in doing so, he could assist these displaced people, as Moray had helped him all those years ago.

“Quiet!” the leader’s male partner shouted. “She can’t concentrate, and he can’t hear her.”

The noise subsided somewhat. The leader leaned over Kào. “Do you understand me?” she asked.

He waited for her words to be displayed in Key. “Yes, I do,” he replied.

She read the translated caption. Then her words came forth in a rush. “Where—? Where are you—?”

Too fast. He couldn’t understand half the questions. They translated as gibberish. “Speak slower.”

That appeared to be an effort for her. “Where are we? Where are you taking us? Why are we here?” she asked.

The crowd of refugees pressing in all around them quieted.
Where are we? Where are you taking us?
The questions he most dreaded answering were those they most wanted answered, of course.

“We are aboard the Perimeter Patrol ship
Savior
, commanded by Commodore-elite Ilya Moray. We came upon your world, Earth, quite by accident. Our normal duty is to range along the Perimeter, the border between the farthest reaches of explored space and the central Alliance worlds.”

The Earth leader gave a quick, anguished laugh. “That can’t be right.” Her eyes beseeched him to agree.

“Do not be afraid. You’re safe now. All of you.”

She sat back on her haunches, her knuckles pressed to her stomach.

“Jordan, what is it?” her shorter female colleague asked her. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice held the slightest of trembles, barely discernable, but it was there nonetheless. “He insists that we’re up in space.”

Several people screamed.

“Quiet, please,” her cohorts shouted.

But the leader—Jordan?—didn’t answer. She continued to stare at him over her conversion-glasses. Her cordial demeanor was gone, replaced by shock, fear, and heart-piercing resentment. “You abducted us. You took us on your starship.”

At that, some cried out; others wept. More voices, louder voices, made it difficult to tell whose words he read.

“Be quiet!” he shouted. The uproar ceased immediately. His tone they could interpret, if not his words. “You were not abducted. You were
rescued
.”

The leader pressed the side of her index finger to her upper lip. Kào’s frankness seemed to have mollified her somewhat, although even after she’d read the translation, he wasn’t certain she believed him. “Explain how you rescued us when there was nothing wrong with our airplane.”

“
Kào—where are you! Report!
” A voice emanated from Kào’s wrist comm: loud, demanding. Nasal.

Blast it all. It was Trist. And she suspected, rightly, that something had gone wrong. He had little doubt that she’d react badly, too. He had to prevent that. “Trist!” he called out, sitting up. The pull of his abdominals was hell on his bruised ribs.

“I am safe—”

The flame-haired man with the strange weapon shoved his heel into Kào’s chest and pushed him backward.

Kào’s head hit the carpeted floor with a thud. The ceiling spun above him. Black spots flooded his vision. But he managed to stay conscious—a talent he’d often cursed during Talagarian torture sessions.

A scuffle dragged his attention upward. He squinted, trying
to focus. Jordan jumped to her feet. “What the hell are you doing, Dillon!” she shouted, shoving Kào’s attacker backward. Her male co-worker stepped between them and took over. Kào adjusted his conversion-glasses and tried to follow the conversation. Too many voices. And the cadence was too swift. But he caught enough of the discussion to follow along—barely.

“You are
not
a member of my crew,” Jordan scolded as her co-worker held on to the man’s arm. “Do you understand, Mr. Dillon? You do nothing unless my flight attendants or I order it. Or I swear—I’ll use that AED on your head.”

The man was clearly surprised by her vehemence. “I thought we didn’t want him talking to his comrades.”

Jordan pulled off the glasses. “You’ve heard only my half of the conversation. He told his partner that he’s okay—
okay
? I would have stopped him myself if it had been anything I deemed dangerous. No more interference in my negotiations.
None
.” Sliding on the glasses, she stalked back to Kào, muttering to herself. “Everyone’s a vigilante.”

“I would advise your overeager friend not to try another stunt like that,” Kào told her. He was an expert in unarmed combat, and although he hadn’t practiced his skills lately, he was certain they’d be more than sufficient to knock this nuisance onto his rear.

After an awkward pause that characterized their caption-guided dialogue, the Earth leader threw a disgusted glance at the flame-haired man. “I’ve dealt with the problem.”

“Good.” Kào’s ribcage creaked ominously, sending streaks of fire across his chest and abdominals as he sat up. His ribs had gotten worse. Perhaps they were broken after all.

“
Kào
!” It was Trist calling again. “
Show me your face. I want proof that you’re all right, or I’m calling security to storm the ship
.”

Blast her impatience! It seemed he, too, was caught dealing with crew members eager to take matters into their own hands. “Stand by, Ensign! Do not send security up here.”

“Security?” Jordan asked, alarmed. “Do you mean police? Soldiers?”

“I asked her not to send them,” he said. “In return I ask that you trust me.”

Kào placed his hand over her forearm in a gesture meant to convey sincerity. The damp heat of her skin raced up his arm. They jerked away from each other—Jordan regarding him as she touched her fingers to the place where he’d laid his hand, and he confounded by the awareness that had sparked between them. But now was not the time or place to reflect on the matter.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go to the doorway now and show myself, so that my people see that I am safe. But you’ll need to release me.”

She conferred with her crew. Then a male co-worker broke off from the group and freed Kào’s ankles from the binding.

“Ensign Pren!” Kào called out. “I’m coming to the exit now. Do not take any action. I repeat, do
not
take any action.” As he climbed to his feet, his extremities tingling and sore, the interior of the Earth vessel plunged into darkness.

Chaos erupted all over again.

Fury and betrayal blazed in Jordan’s eyes. “What the hell is happening?”

But darkness had strangled their ability to communicate with the glasses. Fortunately, his comm still worked. He bellowed, “Trist! I said hold off! That’s an order—
hold off
!”

Too late. Kào felt as if he were floating. And not from hitting his head. A feeling of lightness, of well-being, often accompanied the use of sedative gas.

By the Seeders—who had given Trist the right to make such a decision? Her hasty actions would destroy the fragile
bridge of trust formed between him and the refugees.

In the midst of the confusion, he heard the Earth leader pleading for composure. “Everyone, keep calm! Panic is not going to help . . .” Her voice slurred and trailed off. The screams quieted. Even the babies’ cries ceased. The drug was taking hold.

“Lie down.” Kào fumbled for and caught the leg of Jordan’s trousers, tugging her to the floor. It was better that she went down while she still had the wherewithal to break her fall than to pass out and risk injury.

Her struggle to regain her feet was fleeting. An objecting sigh escaped her, and she sagged to the floor next to him. Kào had only a moment to ponder the dozens of possible ways he envisioned throttling Trist before he, too, spun into unconsciousness.

An entire third of a shipboard day later, Kào stormed toward Commodore Moray’s main meeting room adjacent to and within sight of the bridge.
Stormed
was an optimistic description of his gait, however, as his legs were as wobbly as göhta fronds.

A few men and women who Kào recognized as key members of his father’s smallish crew filed out past him. Clearly, there had been a meeting in his absence. He wondered if the refugee situation had been handed over to someone more appropriate to the task. A few thirds ago, he would have hoped for such a development. But now he was determined to see the matter to its successful conclusion. Stubborn pride or masochism? Only time would tell.

Halting outside the entry as the room emptied, he massaged the back of his neck and cast an impatient glance at the doctor who had trailed him from medical. Even though Kào had walked under his own power, the physician had
insisted on accompanying him. Everyone was prone to coddling the commander’s son, he supposed, even one who was a failure. The situation was reminiscent of his boyhood, and one reason he had been so eager to strike out on his own, joining the Alliance Space Defense Force at the minimum age to become a weapons officer.