In Enemy Hands (4 page)

Moon still didn’t understand. “And you’re saying the best computational machine available is…a
man?
”

“Not just any man.” He smiled indulgently. “Srin Flerovs.”

“Hen tells me I’m worth billions,” Srin added. “And my abilities are at your disposal.”

“You’re not, really, a machine,” Moon asked, “are you?” The thought was not as outlandish as it first appeared. If the Republic could fund her own esoteric research into stellar re-ignition, it could also fund cyborg projects, although—she skimmed his figure from head to toe—he seemed too fluid, too
human
, to be of mechanical origin.

He smiled and it transformed him, putting warmth into his eyes and adding further lines of craggy character to his face. She noticed that he showed a lot of teeth with his smile, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. She felt herself pricked by the needle of envy.

“No,” he said. “I’m just a man.”

A man, they would have her believe, with a brain greater and faster than the fastest Quantaflex ever made. There was no “just” about it.

“What would you like to do now, Doctor?” Jeen asked.

She was as stunned by their complacency as Savic’s revelation. Did they really expect her to begin work next to a walking, talking organic computer—just like that? Did they think that two sentences regarding his abilities were enough for her to trust him implicitly? She searched their faces again, seeing guarded optimism in all their expressions. Maybe they did. She felt like the only sane person in a madhouse.

“Perhaps Mr. Flerovs and I can start with some basics,” she offered noncommittally. She needed some space to think, to test, without inquisitive bystander eyes wanting to dissect every expression that flitted across her face.

Both Jeen and Savic looked at each other, smiling with satisfaction.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Hen Savic said. “We’ll leave you to it then.”

“Call for Dr. Savic at the end of the day,” Jeen said. “He’ll drop by and pick up Tur— Mr. Flerovs.”

Moon nodded and watched them leave, then turned her gaze to Flerovs, who stood, still loose-limbed and relaxed, a couple of metres from her.

“You look like you don’t know what to do with me,” he said.

“I don’t,” she admitted truthfully.

“Hen told me you’re working on stellar-forming. That you’ve been researching the field for years now.”

“That’s right.”

“But more on the re-ignition of dead stars rather than the creation of new ones.”

Moon nodded. “Yes, it’s the re-ignition branch of stellar mechanics.”

“And I’m here to help you. Didn’t you ever have assistants working for you?” he asked with a slight shrug.

“Too distracting,” she said, but her voice was more than a little distracted. She found correlating the image of a super-brain with the well-built but nondescript man in front of her difficult. If she didn’t have direct evidence that the Republic had absolutely no sense of humour, she would have entertained the notion of a hidden camera somewhere, recording her bafflement for the amusement of some unseen audience.

“I had a research partner,” she remarked, more to herself. Kad’s face flashed up in her mind’s eye—his sculpted features, black hair and dark blue eyes. It still hurt to think of that episode in their lab. She turned away and walked to a console, fiddling with the configuration panel. “But not any longer.”

“Well, the Republic obviously thinks you need someone,” Srin remarked. “If it will make you feel better, imagine I’m just the messenger, the liaison, between you and the computer.”

Silence filled the room.

“Do you know the speed of light?” Moon asked suddenly, her eyes still focused on the configuration readouts.

“Yes. It’s 299,792 kilometres per second. I know all the basic figures and equations.”

“What about time dilation equations?”

“Those, too. My initial area of study was physics.”

She checked the structural integrity of the fusion crucible, held deep in the bowels of Engineering in one of its cargo bays, but didn’t acknowledge his statement. “If an object is moving at 150 kilometres per hour,” she asked, naming an abnormally low speed, “what is the time dilation according to Einstein?”

He didn’t hesitate. “One hundred-trillionth of a second.”

She looked at him then and was sure her face mirrored her wonder.

She moved around the console and leant against its back, crossing her arms loosely and resting one ankle over another, regarding him with a slight tilt of her head.

“My ship is exactly one kilometre in length, travelling in normal space at fifty-four percent of the speed of light. I am piloting it. You are standing on an asteroid. As I pass you, an auxiliary engine in the tail, at the exact end-point of the ship, fires—exhibiting a bright flash. Two microseconds later, the sensor array at the frontmost point of my ship short-circuits.”

She paused, looking for any trace of effort on his face. There was none. “What is the space-time interval between these two events?”

His response was immediate. “At that speed, the absolute interval is eight-tenths of a kilometre.”

“And the spatial separation?”

“For you or me?” A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth and she tried not to notice how attractive that one small movement made him.

“Both.”

“Two microseconds, or one kilometre, for you on board the ship, of course. Four point five one microseconds, or one point five seven kilometres, for me as the observer at a given fixed point.”

He was right. Three out of three. Moon sagged against her console and bit her bottom lip. Did the Republic truly realise the potential of what they had before them? Because it was more than his sheer computational ability, as mind-bogglingly fast as that was. It was the interface, the fact that she didn’t even need to set up anything first. Assuming Srin knew the basics of what she wanted to do, it was entirely possible that all she needed to do was have a conversation with him to get the answers she required, without needing to twist everything into a format a mechanical brain recognised.

Hen Savic was wrong to say Srin was worth billions. In truth, he was priceless.

“Do I pass the test?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly and he feigned surprise. “I didn’t?” His crooked grin made the jest obvious.

“No, it’s not that,” she replied. “Of course you did. It’s just…how? When?”

He seemed to know what she was groping for because he approached her and it was only when he was standing directly in front of her that she noticed how broad-shouldered he was. Strange how she hadn’t noticed that before, but it was his face that first caught her attention, his expression of artlessness so out of place on a Republic spaceship that it drew her scrutiny immediately. It was only close up that she noticed his compact build. The sleeves of his shirt reached just below his elbows, exposing cords of muscle along his forearms. The flutter of his shirt occasionally flattened against a plane of his torso, which looked lean and fit. Whoever—whatever—Srin Flerovs was, he obviously worked out a lot.

“I’ve been good at maths for as long as I can remember.”

She grimaced, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. “Good at maths is one thing. But this, Mr. Flerovs—”

“Call me Srin.”

“—is beyond good.”

“But is it enough to work with you?” he asked. “If you tell them you prefer a Kray, they’ll get one for you. Hen told me yesterday how important you and your work are. They’ll get you whatever you want.”

“And what will happen to you?”

He shrugged. “I’ll go back to my own planet, so Hen says.”

So she had the power to decide whether he stayed or left. That was the last thing Moon wanted. She had been responsible, if not for a person then certainly for the work she did with a person. Look how that had turned out. Looking into his eyes, she wondered if there was something in Srin that could snap the same way Kad had snapped, and plunge her once more into a nightmare world of investigation and interrogation. If Srin was everything he seemed, then she had at her disposal one of the most powerful tools in her field. But she had thought the same thing of Kad Minslok, and that episode had ended in disaster.

The silence pooled in the room but it wasn’t uncomfortable. That, too, surprised her. She had never been completely comfortable around other people, but there was something so unthreatening—so disarmingly innocent—about Srin Flerovs that she felt her tension seep away.

Still, despite the feeling of ease, she didn’t want the burden of such a choice. She finally decided to take the coward’s way out by turning and walking away from him, towards the equipment.

“Let’s see how you go today, and then we’ll talk it over.” As if it was somehow a joint decision between them. “After all,” she said, with an attempt at laughter, “you might not like working for me.”

“I’m sure,” he replied, “that won’t be the case.”

There was something deep and seductive in his voice. Moon averted her face so he couldn’t see the creeping blush that sidled up her cheekbones—dull red beneath the glowing brown of her skin.

She distracted him from her discomfort by pointing out the purpose of everything in her lab, launching into a technical rundown of how everything worked, from the use of the library meta-unit for notes on her research so far, to the heavy-water tank that they could use for quantum simulations. The clearboards had been set up in a deliberate pattern. She explained the system—which panels to use or read for initial pointers, and which to move on to when he required more detailed information.

“You’ve explained the equipment,” he said, when she was done briefing him on the array of equipment, “but can you tell me more about your specific research? I’ve been reading a bit about stellar mechanics. But why the emphasis on re-ignition?”

“It’s more efficient,” she replied, with a quick glance at the chrono. Lunch had already come and gone—a discreet soldier appearing with a tray of food, slipping it silently onto the nearby table and then disappearing again. She had forgotten how much fun it was to explain something of her work to someone else, especially when that someone had a purpose other than to sit in judgement of her. And maybe that meant she had gone into too much detail, pulling up the schematics for each and every console and explaining the interaction between systems. But he looked so interested she couldn’t help herself. She found her lips curving more and more into a smile as she completed her initial lecture.

“There are two schools of thought on stellar mechanics. The first pursues the creation of new stars through the aggregation of basic matter. The second concentrates on the re-ignition of dead stars. I feel it’s more efficient to ignite a star with an existing orbiting planetary system already in place.”

“The energy required would be significantly smaller,” he commented.

“Exactly. With a better return on energy investment. It’s also quicker and more predictable, adding to greater cost efficiency.”

“And was that the way you sold it to the Space Academy?”

They were only a step away from each other. Their gazes met and they both grinned.

“An exact quote from my proposal,” Moon agreed, and let a hint of smugness colour her tone.

The moment lengthened. Changed. Suddenly, after years of not noticing anything, Moon noticed too much. She saw a ring of darker grey that surrounded each of his irises, blending into the lighter streaks as they neared the pupils. She saw the material of his loose shirt catch and outline his shoulders, forming small dips and swells where bone met muscle. If she looked down, she knew she would see the fine dark hairs on his forearms and the tougher-looking masculine texture of his skin.

“We should, um, stop,” she finally said, her voice soft and hoarse.

Stop the looking? Stop the searching? Stop the work? She didn’t quite know what she meant.

She swallowed. “We can begin again tomorrow.”

“So you approve?” he asked, his lips twitching toward a smile. “I can work with you?”

As if there had been any doubt. Moon stepped away from him, trying for a bright impersonal voice. “Let’s revisit the working relationship after a week. After all, I probably bored you half to death today. You might want to run back to your world as soon as you can.” She cleared her throat, wondering why that thought gave her pause. “In any case, I didn’t give you much of an opportunity to ask me anything in particular.”

“I do have one important question,” he said. “Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?”

Moon couldn’t remember the last time she’d been invited to dinner. Her meal with Drue Jeen the previous evening didn’t count. Both of them knew it was a business meeting more than anything else, a way of reassuring the captain that he had nothing more than a harmless scientist on board his ship. The years of detention precluded social engagements. And even the years before that, now that she thought on it, were noticeably barren of celebratory occasions. Her parents—both of whom she adored—were now dead. So, with the exception of a small circle of friends who were scientists like her, Moon concentrated on her work, forging a reputation in the difficult field of stellar mechanics. She was indefatigable in attending conferences all through Republic space, expounding the superiority of her re-ignition theory and dismissing critics who approached her with half-baked rebuttals and outrage at the crushing expense of her work. Maybe that had made her unapproachable, but that was all in the past and immutable.

But now, newly out of a physical and intellectual prison, Moon was being asked to dinner. She felt a flutter deep in her stomach.

Srin’s invitation was completely different to the captain’s. Instead of the cool politeness of Captain Jeen, Srin’s eyes were warm and embracing. Jeen measured each of his words, aware of their individual weight, while Srin was forthright and open, with mischief sometimes colouring his tone.

“Not of course that the man’s apparent guileless sincerity has anything to do with my accepting his invitation,” she muttered to herself as she got ready later that evening.

Nor was it due to the fact that he looked completely non-threatening. She had often been accused of playing it safe and avoiding any hint of danger or controversy. But that wasn’t correct. There were just…other things to concentrate on. Just because she hadn’t gone mountain-climbing with her small group of student friends, or helium-gliding with the occasional faculty member, didn’t mean she was intrinsically timid.

By the same token, agreeing to have dinner with Srin wasn’t because her feminine ego was tickled, or because she had been starved of friendly company these many long months. She was approaching it in the same way Drue Jeen had approached her: as a goodwill gesture to someone she would be working with.

Moon straightened her blouse, running a surprisingly nervous hand down the material, trying to press out nonexistent creases. With a growing sense of anxiety, she realised she didn’t even know where she was supposed to meet Srin. Would he be in the captain’s dining room? Or one of the canteens? She wasn’t sure she liked any of those options, either joining Jeen, kicking him out of his own private dining room, or mixing with hordes of hulking soldiers in a common eating area.

She’d have to make it a point to tell Srin that a proper venue for dinner was important. It wasn’t as though they were on a planet with shops and restaurant alleys conveniently scattered around nearby streets. They were on board a warship headed out into the depths of space, and their choice of venue was limited.

Determination quickened her step. The problem was, she didn’t have much time left. Only fifteen minutes until she was due to meet him. She had to talk to him before he made any definite plans. She was not—

Moon walked down the short corridor outside her cabin, entered her lab and stopped. The table at the far end of the room, the one Jeen told her could be used for working lunches, was set with an ivory tablecloth, its soft folds draped over the tabletop in shadowed lines before cascading onto the floor. On the table itself, she saw two dinner places set along with a trio of covered dishes.

All that was missing, she thought, was soft lighting and soothing background music. Her gaze flew to Srin, who waited patiently by the table. He, too, had changed clothes. He now wore a long, pale shirt that matched his eyes, and a type of sarong that reached the top of his feet. She thought it was an impractical garment on a ship that could lose its artificial gravity in an altercation with an asteroid, but it looked right on him. Otherworldly. As if he was somehow above the petty problems that plagued other mortals.

He smiled, an apologetic upturn of his lips. “I hope you don’t mind but I asked Hen for advice in organising our dinner. He suggested we could have our meal here.”

“No,” she said slowly, approaching the table. “I don’t mind at all.”

“The tablecloth’s a bit big. It seems they only use them for large diplomatic receptions and they usually cover the long buffet tables.”

“It looks fine.” And it did—subtle, pliant and glowing.

“Please.” He indicated the chair opposite. “Have a seat.”

Moon sat while Srin told her about the dishes the kitchen delivered. She watched his face as he talked, fascinated by the animation that lit his features, and wondered what it would take to look like that herself. She felt so cold and empty in comparison. What was his secret? Did he have esoteric spiritual beliefs that somehow sustained him? Or perhaps there was a large and loving family still waiting on his world? Was he married? Moon’s fingers tightened momentarily on the cutlery she was holding. She hoped not.

They began to eat.

Srin said little about himself, instead using anecdotes from his early life as springboards to ask Moon about hers. To her surprise, she found herself telling him about growing up in the centre of the Republic, with two very creative parents—both of them scientists, although in different fields. They discussed the possible effect of genetics on career choices, and Srin related some amusing and barely legal tales from his wild years as a teenager.

“I’ve always wanted eyes like yours,” he said suddenly, near the end of their meal.

Moon was startled. She had always considered herself average. Average brown skin, average brown eyes. Maybe there was some pleasing arrangement to the way her generous bow-shaped lips sat, composed and full, beneath a straight nose and pair of large eyes, but she was convinced absolute beauty eluded her. All she had of any worth was her intellect.

She tried shrugging off the compliment. “They’re just brown,” she said.

“They’re warm,” he countered, using a term she thought more appropriate to him than her. “Like a blanket. Mine are too bland, too colourless. I think it makes people uncomfortable.”

“Is that why you decided to have our dinner here?” she asked softly.

“Am I that obvious?” He flashed her a grin and she saw it again, the expression that transformed him from lifeworn into someone devilishly handsome and knowing. In an instant he changed from harmless to a little dangerous. Moon knew she had to be on her guard.

“I think they give me a nickname, call me Turk, because they feel I threaten them.”

That was the perfect introduction to a question that had plagued her for a day. “Why
do
they call you Turk? Do you come from Turk III? Or a nearby system?” That was the only thing she could think of, although the name of his world didn’t really gel with the ribald laughter that surrounded him the day before, when she’d hurried past the group of jesting soldiers.

“It has nothing to do with geography,” he chuckled. “Hen dug out the ancient reference for me. They call me Turk as a shortcut. The full name is ‘The Mechanical Turk.’ Do you know what that is?”

Moon shook her head.

“It describes a large machine, purportedly the most powerful of its time, that played chess. Advertised as the latest in automation, it beat all the gaming champions. It was only later that the machine was revealed as a large metal box, worked on the inside by a human being.”

So that explained it. Yes, she could see how that name would find him and follow him around, the organic equivalent of an advanced computer.

“Hen doesn’t like it but, once he told me its origins, I felt a little proud to be called ‘Turk.’ What about you?” He sipped a refill of sparkling water from his slender glass. “Do you have any nicknames?”

Did she? Moon thought back. No, even her parents called her by her proper name.

“No,” she said, and wondered why her voice sounded a little sad.

He shrugged. “I think Hen wishes people wouldn’t use it, but he can’t stop them. And I don’t suppose a smart woman like you needs a joke name.”

She reacted to that, lifting her eyebrows at him. “Considering you’re the one who can do spatial displacement equations in your head, what makes you think
I’m
the smart one?”

“Smart isn’t just the ability to calculate quickly,” he countered. “Shown around this ship once, I could probably tell you how many boots and meters are on each deck. It doesn’t mean I know what to do with that data.”

She could tell he was teasing her by the glint in his eye and she unsuccessfully suppressed a smile. Nobody had ever flirted with her about her
intellect
before. She was at once flattered and dazed. Despite his innocent looks, Srin Flerovs was obviously a man who didn’t easily let an opportunity slide by him. She felt her pulse quicken at the thought that she was his next “opportunity.”

“And what makes you think I do?” she asked, slipping herself into the game.

“The Republic wouldn’t have commandeered an entire ship if they thought you weren’t worth it.”

“Maybe they’re misguided.”

“Misguided? Maybe. But never stupid.”

“No.” She thought back to Kad and his precipitous flight from the Centre. “You can never call them stupid.” She came back from that far-off memory and pinned him with a firm gaze. “And what about you? If the ability to do four-dimensional maths in your head is not an indication of intelligence, what is?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t intelligent. Just that I don’t think I’m as smart as you.”

“You’re trying to flatter me,” she accused.

“Absolutely. Is it working?”

Moon had to laugh at that. She couldn’t help herself.

“No wonder you need someone like Dr. Savic around,” she remarked. “I can’t imagine the trouble you’d get into otherwise.”

“That’s strange,” he said, rising to his feet. He extended his hand and she took it, placing her fingers in his open palm, as though they were at a formal reception instead of a deserted science lab. “That’s exactly what Hen says,” he told her.

She stood and met his appreciative gaze, just centimetres away.

Moon felt the breath catch in her throat. Something she thought dormant flared into life, fluttering through her belly. She thought—hoped?—he would kiss her, and tamped down a stab of disappointment when he turned and guided her to the circular porthole against the external wall. Moon knew why there were so few portholes on spaceships. She could talk knowledgeably, but not in too much detail, of the stresses on the window inserts, especially during hyperjumps. She could outline the risk of failure during such jumps and explain the sometimes tragic consequences on ships and passengers. But it wasn’t until Srin’s warm hand guided her to one that she realised how romantic a window to the galaxy really was.

He was content to keep quiet, and she allowed the silence of the room to wash over her, giving rein to less scientific thoughts. When she looked at stars, she usually analysed them in terms of size, composition, age and probable fate. Accompanied by fellow researchers’ talk, she saw the giant globes of gas as little more than spheres of high-pressure thermonuclear explosions, immense puzzles to be decoded and unlocked. But in the current silence, through the thick transparency of the window, all she could think was how beautiful space was, the blackness punctuated by sharp points of faraway light. On a planet, starscapes were removed from the viewer, with slices of atmospheric interference or dancing electrons interfering with the vision. But out here…

She breathed in and let her breath out slowly. Was she really trying to re-ignite one of those radiation-rich interstellar behemoths? And was her confidence in what she was doing a measure of her skill, or was it arrogance?

“I feel so small,” she finally said.

“I was wondering what it would take to bring you down to the level of us humans.”

She turned to look at him sharply.

“Dr. Moon Thadin,” he said, standing so close she could feel the brush of his shirt against hers. “Famous scientist. Groundbreaking researcher. Even Hen’s impressed with your record. And Hen isn’t someone who’s easily impressed.”

“What about you?” Her voice was suddenly hoarse. “Are you impressed?”

“By your mind? How could I not be? By
you
? Well, let’s just say, Dr. Thadin, you continue to surprise me. And most delightfully.”

He bent his head to kiss her. She was expecting it, but expected their first embrace to be fleeting and soft, a meeting then release. It was only as his kiss deepened that she knew she had underestimated him again.

Srin Flerovs wanted Moon Thadin, and he wasn’t ashamed to show it. With surprisingly strong hands, he pulled her against him. She felt his arousal against her groin and gasped. He used it as an invitation to explore her mouth more thoroughly, running his tongue along the edge of her teeth, and then seeking out her own tongue to tangle with.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She only agreed to have dinner with Srin for professional reasons. What would Drue Jeen say if he happened upon such behaviour? What would Hen Savic say? She was a scientist. A thinker.

A woman.

With a groan, Moon lifted her arms, shaking off Srin’s grip, grasping his head between her fingers.

It had been so long and she didn’t know how much she had missed the feel of someone else’s flesh against hers until Srin’s lips touched her own. His skin was hot against hers, his mouth moist and welcoming, hard where her fingers met bone and her tongue met jaw, soft against the flesh of his cheeks and the answering probe of his own tongue.

She thought she was beyond this, cleansed of any desire, stripped of everything except her brain and her utility and duty to the Republic that had finally released her. But the feel of Srin against her, his chest brushing against her breasts, his thighs, strong and firm against hers, resurrected buried and primal longings.

She heard a moan—was that muffled voice hers?—but didn’t stop. How had she ever thought she could bury such intense feelings? She was no virgin; she knew the pleasure in feeling another’s hands against her skin. How stupid was she to imagine she could forgo such sensual touch for the rest of her life?