Balance of Terror (31 page)

“Oh Kad,” she whispered brokenly, “what are you doing right now? What
will
you do?”

Momentarily, she thought of trying to source a weapon – there had to be one somewhere – and forcing the pilots to turn around and…and…

Moon had thought space was small, that she and Srin would be easy to find. They had escaped from sector to sector with the breath of Republic forces hot on the back of their necks. Or so she thought. But now, as she sat and concocted a wild plan to find the
Unfinished Tale
, Moon realised exactly how big space really was. Light travelled almost three hundred thousand metres in one second. At half-light speed, that still came to one hundred and fifty thousand metres a second. And the
Grey Vapour
was already two days (2 x 24 hours x 60 minutes x 60 seconds x 150,000 metres) away from the
Unfinished Tale
, not taking into account the
Tale
’s own velocity and the exponential effect crease-hopping had on distance.

She started thinking of the expanding volume of space she would need to traverse, the kind of search algorithm to use, the likelihood of discovery. Fuel consumption, oxygen consumption, food and water. Spheres of the
Tale
’s potential position, expanding through space like bubbles, with her and the
Grey Vapour
trying blindly to limp after them.

“I can’t do it,” she finally admitted to herself. “I’m sorry Srin, but I don’t even know where to begin.”

When Needann walked into the cabin, hours later, Moon was still hunched over in abject misery. Moon lifted her gaze only by a few millimetres and watched Needann’s booted feet hesitate then move to her side of the cabin.

“You didn’t have your evening meal,” the alien said.

“I’m not hungry.” Moon’s voice was sullen, discouraging further comment. Unfortunately, she wasn’t speaking with a human, who might have taken the hint and left her in peace.

There was a soft whoosh as Needann sat on her bunk.

Silence.

“I came from the Analine sector,” Needann said. “It was very poor but crease-rich. Prosperity used to fall like flakes of platinum from all the ships passing through.”

Moon kept her head down. She didn’t want to listen – she wanted to wallow in her misery – but Needann’s voice was insistent.

“But the flakes could only be caught by those with the knowledge and resources. My family had neither. I knew, even as a youngling, that the only way to survive was to leave Analine and move closer to Tor. I was highly educated but, for a non-human, that counts for little in the Republic. I was reduced to menial work in the shipyards and processing plants. I was popular because I’m a very quick worker but, because of my species, I knew I would never be promoted.

“Then I read about a job. It was on the ice-planet of Kahlex. A human was building a continent-sized resort. They needed workers and staff very quickly. I applied for a position working with the holiday-makers.”

Moon couldn’t help herself. She looked up.

“I passed all the aptitude tests,” Needann continued, meeting her gaze, “but failed the final interview. I was ‘too alien-looking’, I was told. I found this hard to digest. The climate on Kahlex suited me as I come from a cool planet. For aliens, the conditions were good. I could even begin saving some money. I started to ask questions. What did this mean, ‘too alien-looking’, and I found the answer.

“It seems that humans like the exotic element, but not when it’s too exotic. It wasn’t my height or my facial characteristics. It was the fact that I had four arms.”

Moon frowned. “You….”

Of course.
That’s
why Needann looked out of proportion, as if someone had partially melted then stretched her like a thick tube of polymer. Then the import of her observation hit her.

“You didn’t?” Moon asked in horror.

Needann met Moon’s appalled gaze calmly.

“I could either get the job on Kahlex and have money to send to my family, or I could continue living on the edge of starvation like them. The surgery,” Needann continued, “was painful and expensive, but the doctor was skilled. I began working at Kahlex six months later.”

“Needann,” Moon commented, shaking her head, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing. Just listen.

“Because of my act of self-mutilation, I was in a position that an alien such as myself rarely achieved. I was surrounded by humans. As an alien, I was invisible. I wove between them. I learnt
ingel
and watched the way you humans move and act. I knew that my existence meant nothing to you because I was little more than a decoration in the resort, a way of being exotic without challenging your preconceptions.

“We had some very rich people at Kahlex and, being an alien, they too regarded me as an imbecile. But whenever they gave advice to their friends, I was there. I listened. And acted. Within a decade, I had built up enough assets to be independent, but had no outlet for my spare time. I could liberate my family, but that was only one family in a galaxy of inequity.”

“And so you started a rebel network?”

“Yes. It gave me focus and motivation. It still does. But,” Needann stressed, holding her gaze, “none of this would have happened if I hadn’t made the decision to damage myself.”

“At least the decision was yours to make,” Moon countered bitterly but knew, deep inside, that her objection wasn’t a fair one. Srin had already come to the same conclusion, to sacrifice part of them – himself – in order to give her a life. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

“You are correct,” Needann said, and that made Moon feel even worse, but she suppressed her sympathy. “I made the decision of my own volition.”

“And,” Moon added, shaking her head, “I’m not going to start a damn rebel network. I’m not going to bring down the Republic. All I wanted was to find a place to live.”

“The galaxy doesn’t always give us what we want.”

“Don’t give me that lucky coin fortune!” Moon shot back. “Don’t you
dare
tell me that the bloody galaxy doesn’t give me what I want, it gives me what I
need
. That’s just feel-good bullshit.”

The last word came out on a sob and Moon clamped her mouth shut before she could betray more emotion.

Silence.

“Are you sure you don’t want any food?”

“I’m sure,” Moon answered, through gritted teeth.

“I need to check our route with the pilot. I will be back in one hour.”

Needann rose from the low bunk and walked out the door. Some part of Moon recognised this as an unusually charitable gesture on the alien’s part, giving her some privacy with her grief, but all Moon could think about was the timing. Why extend charity now when Needann wouldn’t even attempt to contact the
Unfinished Tale
?

And what was Kad doing, following his own circuitous path to the rebels’ new rendezvous point? Would their route take them close to a planet or a station with advanced medical facilities? And, if it did, would Srin accept the help offered?

That thought kept Moon restless for the next two weeks.

Chapter Twenty-four

Needann called their new destination Excalibur Beta and didn’t appear to see the irony in the name. It was already a bustling nexus of activity within the hollowed-out core of an asteroid by the time the
Grey Vapour
docked, and Moon was told that this was where the bulk of the original Excalibur personnel had been transferred when the news of traitor Dokan’s defection had first surfaced.

Moon was thankful for the additional space because she spent most of her waking time pacing the narrow twisty passages of E-Beta and asking if there was any word from the
Unfinished Tale
. She had been hoping that the
Tale
would arrive before Needann’s ship, but the
Vapour
was the first of the last wave of vessels to dock and all Moon could do was wait. And pace.

When Kad’s ship was eventually picked up by E-Beta’s sensors, almost four weeks had elapsed. Needann, although calm and aloof during the previous month, graciously informed Moon that she would be summoned to Needann’s office the moment the
Unfinished Tale
docked, although Moon suspected that Needann did that more to circumvent Moon driving the technical staff crazy than out of any sense of goodwill.

The call eventually came through in the afternoon, subterranean asteroid time, and Moon half-ran, careering off the rough walls and stumbling a few times on the uneven ground before she reached Needann’s office. She burst through the door without even pausing to press the buzzer and skidded to a halt, breathing heavily as she scanned the scene in front of her.

Needann was Needann, her tall mutilated figure standing, as usual, but this time in front of her bank of clearboards instead of behind them. Two metres away, Kad stood. He had turned at the sound of Moon’s entrance, his expression a mixture of stoicism, sadness and…surely not! Surely that wasn’t
guilt
on his face?

“Where’s Srin?” she demanded.

Kad opened his mouth. “Moon….”

“Did you take him to the medical bay? Did you, Kad? Is that where he is now? In the medical bay?”

Say yes, say yes, damn you!

“Moon….”

“Dammit, just answer me, Kad Minslok, or I’ll swear I’ll wring your neck like I promised to on Marentim.”

“Moon….”

“Flerovs is dead, Thadin,” Needann told her, without expression.

Moon took a jerky step forward. “No, that can’t be true.” Her voice rose as she stepped forward again. “It can’t be true because you wouldn’t have let him die, Kad. Not Srin. Not after knowing everything we’d been through.”

“Moon…,” he paused, and the sorrow in his face pulled his mouth down and dulled the blue of his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Moon shook her head. “No.”

“We didn’t find out the situation – that we’d accidentally taken the wrong bag – until we were almost at the Barrens.”

“No.”

“There are no stations in that part of space, Moon, and we were too far away from the nearest crease.”

“You’re lying.”

“My medic tried everything he could, but he admitted that he was probably missing some of the medicine that you used.” Kad started shaking his head. “Srin wanted to die, but I wouldn’t let him, Moon. My medic and I worked night and day. What we managed to put together helped for a little while, but….”

“What took you so long to arrive, Minslok?” Needann asked.

Kad glanced at her quickly. “We hit two Republic sweep patrols on the way. It was sheer bad luck that the Space Fleet were holding exercises near a crease we had planned to use. Our detour put us weeks behind schedule.”

“Where’s Srin now?” Moon’s voice wavered with choked emotion.

“He…his last wish was to be shot into the nearest sun. That’s what we did.”

Moon strode up to her old research partner. Swinging her arm, she slapped him sharply across the face. The report of her strike echoed around the room but nobody moved. Her eyes filling with tears, Moon stared Kad in the face, ignoring the traces of red that were the imprints of her fingers on his cheek. “You had no right.”

“Moon, it was what he wanted.”

“You had no right to deny me my last moments with him.”

“Moon, he was dead!”

“Dammit, Kad, I loved him!”

She stumbled forward and felt herself being gently engulfed within a pair of masculine arms. Grabbing the front of his shirt, she cried into Kad’s chest, both their bodies jerking with the strength of the sobs that overwhelmed her.

“Moon,” he whispered into her hair, “I’m sorry. If there had been another way, you know I would have taken it.”

He raised his voice. “Needann, I think I should see Moon to her quarters.”

“Yes. We will talk later.”

Tenderly, as if guiding a child, Kad took one of Moon’s hands in his and led her out of the office.

“He can’t be dead,” she repeated brokenly.

“He wanted it that way,” Kad said. “He told me.”

It was true, then. There were only two people who had known those wishes – her…and Srin himself. And Kad would only have known of them if Srin had shared them with him. Moon felt another wave of grief rising up from her chest, squeezing it tight with sorrow, and she swallowed convulsively in an effort to control it.

“Did…did he say anything?”

“What do you expect me to tell you, Moon? That he loved you beyond life? You knew that. That he was grateful for the slice of time you had together, time that he could finally remember?”

They reached her temporary quarters and Kad turned her around to face him, his intense blue gaze boring into her. “He was an exceptional man, Moon. I can see why you fell in love with him. I’m only sorry I didn’t get the chance to be as good a friend to him as well. But what he did, he did – not only for you – but for the entire galaxy. That’s something about him I’ll never forget.”

Moon waited until the door of her quarters was securely shut behind her before she gave in to her heart-rending grief. She stayed, locked in her room, for two days and didn’t eat a thing.