In Enemy Hands (2 page)

Three years later:

The
Differential
was a smooth-looking ship that resembled, Moon thought, a pregnant thigh bone. From perusing its schematics, she knew that the bulbous formations at one end housed the bridge and extensive navigation and sensor equipment. At the other end, they contained the ship’s massive engines. In the middle were the habitation, work and storage decks, with a small bulge near the bottom where her lab had been hastily tacked on. A smattering of round viewports all along the ship’s main body poured shafts of bright light into the surrounding space.

She additionally knew that the ship housed a total of one hundred and twenty crew members, all male, and was designated a medium Raker class. That meant it was used for “lighter” enforcement duties—investigating or cleaning up problems rather than for the heavy coercion to which the Republic usually resorted.

Moon should have been impressed that such a ship had been put at her disposal. It showed the importance the Republic accorded her research, the resources it was prepared to invest in order to make her wishes come true. Three years ago, she would have been jumping with joy, giddy with smug euphoria. But three years ago she was a different person. Now, all she and that person had in common was a name.

The shuttle arced above and approached the other side of the bone, so her glimpse of the newly constructed addition on the elevated display panel at the front of the small ship was brief and maddeningly incomplete. With a frown, Moon moved to the back of the shuttle, checking on her luggage. Once, she couldn’t have even contemplated travel without taking with her multiple changes of clothes, a library of only five hundred of her best-loved books and journals, two computers, a current assortment of useful gadgets and her favourite electron microscope…just in case. But the past few years had taught her a lesson in what was—and wasn’t—necessary. She had ruthlessly purged her bad habit, replacing it with something approaching ascetism. She had only one large, shapeless bag, and if it resembled the satchel that Kad Minslok had carried that fateful morning an eternity ago, she tried hard not to think about it.

The small craft jerked as it was caught by the ship’s tractors, but Moon hardly noticed it, her feet already apart to compensate for the sharp movement. She grabbed the bag by its short, thick handle and walked to the front, ignoring the small group of passengers who were still in their seats. All four were soldiers, none of them high-ranking. Republic drones. She quelled the thought and stared at the dull grey of the curved door, wondering who would be sent to meet her.

The whine of the engines died down and the door slid open with a small
whoosh
. Moon stepped out while the rest were slowly shuffling to their feet behind her. She took a grateful breath of an air that was less stale than what she left behind.

When the captain of the
Differential
, the pips of his rank gleaming, stepped forward with a smile and offered his hand, she tried not to look surprised.

Moon considered herself slightly taller than average, but this man towered over her by a full head. His short, corn-coloured hair gleamed warmly, even under the ship’s artificial lighting. He wore it slightly longer than most military men, enough to give him a spiky fringe. It looked thick and soft.

His shoulders stretched the material of his dark blue uniform, following the contours of his body, exposing muscular leanness with not a gram of excess fat. His eyes were a lighter blue, like a summer’s day on humanity’s fabled home planet of Earth. When he smiled, two deep dimples scored his cheeks.

For now, there was no warmth in his eyes or his smile, just professional welcome and courtesy, but Moon wasn’t expecting anything more. As far as she was concerned, the captain was a means to an end. She was sure he saw her the same way. Possible promotion, meet possible scientific breakthrough.

“Dr. Thadin,” he greeted her. His voice was low and soothing. “My name is Drue Jeen. I’m captain of the
Differential
. Welcome aboard.”

She took his hand and held it for the requisite two seconds before allowing it to slip from her fingers. She enjoyed the feeling of his warmth against her coolness, and wondered if she would ever be warm again.

“Thank you, Captain.”

The small group of disembarking passengers and crew flowed around them silently. Moon noticed the surreptitious glances at Jeen as they moved off. They were probably in awe of him, careful not to do anything that would get them noticed, even if that meant delaying a casual conversation in his vicinity. Republic Space Fleet captains held the power of life or death over their crews, a fact she would do well to remember.

She remained silent, letting her gaze rest lightly on him. The fact that he was an attractive man would make her time on the ship easier. It was always easier being nice, or appropriately communicative, to someone who was handsome or beautiful. Supposedly it didn’t matter; she had been extensively briefed on how often she was to keep the captain of the
Differential
informed of her work. That was the way of the Republic—looks weren’t supposed to matter, but they didn’t hurt. Moon didn’t consider herself beautiful, only moderately attractive, but had the feeling that fact had saved her from the worst excesses during the past three years. How much worse it could have been if she was ugly. Or male.

“Would you like to tour your lab first, or be escorted to your quarters?” he asked politely.

“The lab first, please.” A rare smile curved her lips. That was where she felt most comfortable, among the equations and equipment that were like friends to her.

His gaze darted down to the bag she still held in her left hand, then farther down to the floor. “Did you bring any luggage?”

She hefted the bag once. “Just this.”

“Oh. That’s…highly unusual.”

“The Directorate said the lab on board the
Differential
was fully equipped, Captain Jeen.” There was a hint of ice in her voice. “Were they mistaken?”

“No, they weren’t mistaken,” he replied easily. “It’s just unusual to see anybody travel halfway across the Republic so, er, lightly.”

He said “anybody,” but he meant “a woman.” Moon knew that well enough. She wasn’t sure what annoyed her more—the rampant sexism throughout Republic space, or the guilt-laden fact that she had been allowed to return to her research only because she
was
a woman. The Republic considered her a negligible threat.

Jeen made a move, obviously indicating that he was happy to carry her bag for her, but Moon kept a firm hold on the handle and waited patiently for him to show the way. After a slight hesitation, he walked down the corridor away from the shuttle dock ring.

The material under her feet wasn’t carpet and it wasn’t metal but some kind of matte rubbery compound that compressed slightly each time she put her weight on it. As she looked around, she saw the covering extended up the walls and even over the ceiling, its dark grey expanse broken only by recessed lighting fixtures, ventilation grilles and control panels of various shapes. Even the doors were covered in the material. She restrained herself from reaching out and touching it. She had never been on a battle-ready Space Fleet ship before, only on private and commercial craft…and Republic prisoner transports. She curled her inquisitive fingers until they formed a fist. Time enough later to satisfy her curiosity.

“I thought you’d be happier having quarters next to the lab,” Jeen was saying, casting an occasional quick glance backwards as he walked. “So you could work whenever you wanted. The entire lab complex is completely private.”

Moon knew he was trying to be polite, but couldn’t help the cynical spin she put on his words. The Republic was impatient. It wanted results. Tangible results from the piles of money they had already thrown into the void commonly known as “Dr. Thadin’s research.” And now, at the first stage of real space trials, the pressure was on her to prove she was right, and worthy of a decade’s worth of funding and the fulsome exoneration of her name. She said nothing, merely nodding at his words.

The ship was silent, she noticed. Oh, it had the usual background humming and occasional beep or hiss from something opening or closing, but she heard none of the loud conversational rambles she was used to in other, more commercial environments. The few dialogues she passed were conducted in low, crisp undertones and often people walked side by side, not exchanging a word. It gave her insight into a world much more coldly disciplined than she was expecting.

If the lab looked tacked on from her snatched look outside the
Differential
, the extension was seamless on the inside. Jeen gestured past a doorway at the end of a short corridor, and Moon stepped into what was to be her home for the next three months, perhaps longer.

The room was huge and roughly octagonal shaped. Against what she gathered was the hull, a clear bulbous sphere sat, the intricate machinery inside dark and quiescent. Surrounding the sphere were banks of angled consoles, their surfaces black and glassy-smooth.

Moon’s gaze moved from the sphere to the rest of the lab, skimming over large clearboards, overlaid with fine grids but otherwise blank, angled worktables, the familiar chunky bulk of a meta-library unit and a wall of panels, each butted up next to its neighbour. There was plenty of space for her to pace while thinking—the briefing to the lab designers must have been frighteningly complete. There was even a set of table and chairs next to a wall, so she could eat while she worked.

“The Senior Chef is at your disposal at any time, day or night,” Jeen commented, noting where her gaze lingered. “And the door to the lab complex can be locked for privacy. The actual, ah, missile framework and launching mechanism is down in the cargo bay next to our engineering section.” He indicated another open doorway to the left and stepped in that direction. “Your quarters are through here.”

Moon took a step, following him, then stopped. There was something not quite right. She scanned the room again. Everything seemed to be in its correct place, but it felt…emptier than it should. Then it hit her.

“Where’s the Kray?” she asked.

Jeen stopped and turned to face her. “Pardon?”

“I normally work with a Kray Quantaflex,” she elaborated. “A Mark Six. I can’t see one here.”

“Yes, the Kray.” Jeen spoke slowly but looked thoughtful more than discomfited. “We’ve come up with what we think is a better substitute.”

Moon looked round again. Her Mark Six—that, in a fit of emotionalism, she had nicknamed “Qwacka”—was a tall, slim machine, flanked by short featureless databanks. Nothing she saw in the lab even approximated its shape.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Captain, but if I don’t have a Quantaflex, a Mark Five at the very least, then my trip here has been in vain.”

She stood resolute. Some of her stubbornness must have shown in her face or her stance, because Jeen cocked his head in a most disarming fashion.

“It’s late,” he said in a reasonable voice. “Why don’t I show you to your quarters and give you a chance to get settled? We can discuss this over dinner, if you’d care to join me?”

Moon hesitated, wanting to say no, but the weight of her bag dragged at her wrist, reminding her that she was tired after almost a day and a half of continuous travel. And he was offering food. If it didn’t entail the usual pureed selection of bland mixtures slapped onto a tray, it would be wonderful. The alternative was standing her ground. But what would that achieve at this point? More discomfort?

She was a logical person and knew an olive branch when she saw one.

She conceded with a nod. “You’re right, Captain. We can discuss this later.”

He smiled, obviously pleased, and it lightened his face, making him look more boyish.

“Believe me, Dr. Thadin, the Republic is as invested in this project of yours as you are.”

They walked through the doorway and turned right into another corridor, past a closed door to another at the end.

“It’s keyed to your DNA,” Jeen explained as he stepped to one side.

Moon put her hand on the reflective rectangular panel at eye level. After a second’s hesitation, the door slid open.

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable. Will you be ready for dinner in, say, an hour?”

“Yes, I think so.” The bag’s weight was starting to burn through her fingers.

“I’ll see you then. Just ask anyone to direct you to the captain’s dining room.”

“Thank you. I will.”

With another smile and a quick nod, he left.

Moon let the door slide shut behind her but didn’t relax. That was for more naive members of the Republic. With one last effort, she hoisted her bag onto the bed and walked around the quarters. Considering she was in a combat ship, the space she’d been given was expansive. Not only was there a small sitting alcove, but also her own private bathroom. There was even enough room for her to walk comfortably around three sides of the bed. She sauntered over to the opposite wall and pressed the small, upraised square on the bottom corner of a large panel. A view of what was beyond the
Differential
’s hull sprang to view. They were at the edge of the local system, the preferred position from which to begin a hyperspace journey. The system’s planets looked like multi-coloured dots mired in black velvet. Somewhere, off to her right and a little behind her, she knew the system’s star burned. It was viable and life-giving—and outside her sphere of interest.

Moon found another slide control next to the button. She quickly flicked through the other available scenes—tropical rainforest, searing desert, nebulae, ringed planets. Eventually, she toggled back to the natural outside view and left the screen at that choice.

If she was not mistaken—her eyes scanned the cabin’s interior—there were no cameras inside her cabin. At least none that were obvious. Did this mean they trusted her? Or that they thought the ship was the perfect prison for her without the need for extra equipment? After all, she wondered with dry amusement, what could one female scientist do against more than a hundred well-trained soldiers?