No, it was gone again. He must have received some minor injury during the melee. No doubt his memory would return in due course. Meanwhile it certainly did not affect his fighting efficiency in any way...
He blinked and realised the Emindian woman was speaking again. Careful, Sho.You're in enemy territory. Concentrate.
'Look,' she was saying anxiously, 'you don't need to take me prisoner.We're both in the same boat.We both want to get out of here and back to our own ships, don't we?'
'So that you can get back to report how well your deception is going?' he hissed back at her.
'What do you mean?' She was not a bad actress. She looked genuinely surprised.
'The voices! You can just hear them over the suit bands if you listen very carefully, but not on our frequencies. Do you suppose it's those creatures?
Would they use helmet radios? No, it's your people.'
'It must be the party I'm with, that's all.'
'No, these sound different. You can never quite hear the words. Some special force with new model equipment, eh?'
'I don't know anything about any special forces and I've no idea what's going on here. Why can't you believe me?'
'You can tell that to Commander Vega. I'm taking you back to our ship and we'll find out everything you know.' He paused for effect. 'Easily.'
"This is ridiculous. If we really are responsible for all this, why did those creatures attack us?'
'Youclaim they attacked you.'
'It was in some big chamber. The interface ran right through the middle of it. There were some of your people there as well. More marines.And we found a LieutenantTane...'
The relief squad, it had to be, Sho thought. And the lieutenant was still alive. If only he could link up with them. He realised she was still talking.
'Can you hear me? Those ghost things attacked all of us. Your own people will confirm it once you find them.'
"Then it was an act to put us off our guard,' he said, suddenly seeing how it all made sense.'This must be an experimental weapons-testing base.
Those things are some new form of camouflaged combat suit. You're trying to trick us into staying here so you can test them properly.'
'You're paranoid!'
He took her by the arm and pushed her ahead of him.
'I don't care ajek what you think of me. Now move! And you keep your mouth shut, unless you want to attract any more of our friends.' He drew his field knife from its belt sheath and showed her the long, dark, reinforced-carbon blade with its razorlike crystal tip and edge.
'This won't make a sound. Give me away to anybody and you're dead, understand?'
She nodded dumbly.
Together they moved off down the long corridor.
Chapter 17
Guilt
The next morning, ship time, the Cirrandaria's crew spared no efforts to distract the passengers' attention from the alien craft and whatever it might contain. Tired holidaymakers, waking from the excitement of the previous night's departure of the expedition to board the derelict, found that the public-address speakers and info screens were alive with announcements of special prizes for the coming fancy-dress night, the attractions of the gymnasia, solarium, deck sports, tri-dee shows and a live theatre matinée.
Only a brief mention was made about the results of the expedition itself.
It was implied that the exploration party had encountered something strange on board, but the details were carefully vague. It mentioned, without undue emphasis, that Lyset Wynter and a couple of other crew members were unaccounted for, but there seemed no great urgency about their situation, and in any case it seemed natural to associate Lyset with exotic and dangerous situations. She had always returned safely in the past.And in the strange way that fact and fancy sometimes blurred, the reassuring thought lingered in the back of most people's minds that Don Delray would be there to rescue her if the situation got serious.
The passengers were also gently but repeatedly reminded that the whole business would be over very shortly, when a squadron of navy ships would arrive to relieve them.The Captain had also gently eased the Cirrandaria a few kilometres further away from the derelict during the night, reducing its apparent size and prominence. After a day of excitement and speculation the novelty of the situation was beginning to wane. It had been an interesting if slightly inconvenient diversion, but now separation from the focus of interest made it easier to dismiss from the mind. It was evident that the Nimosians were not going to profit from their attempts at salvaging the craft, and so the status quo had been maintained.
Besides, the Cirrandaria's passengers had paid for a luxury cruise and they were determined not to let anything stop them getting their money's worth.
***
'Why don't you go to the library?' Rhonda Plecht suggested to Lester as she gathered up her wrap.
She was going for a sauna and massage with a couple of new-found cronies (as Lester privately thought of them) who seemed to share Rhonda's view of life. They were steadily working their way through all the diversions the ship had to offer, apparently for the sole purpose of highlighting the minutest deficiencies of the staff, the facilities and their fellow passengers. Still, it seemed to keep her happy, and it allowed Lester a few hours to himself each day.
'Or the lounge on C Deck,' she continued.'That man is going to give another of his talks on the ancient Pharosens. You'll like that.'
'Yes, dear,' he replied dutifully.'Or perhaps I might have a go on the topological putting green. I used to like golf.'
'You were dreadful at golf. It was an embarrassment. Such a relief when you gave it up. Well, as long as you keep to putting. Don't try any of those freefall games. You know you get nauseous so easily. You don't want to make a spectacle of yourself.'
Rhonda always had a horror of his committing some social disaster, though that eventuality, as Lester would be the first to admit, had long since passed into the realm of the highly improbable since she had taken over the running of his life. This surrender of responsibility, he acknowledged, had not been without its mutual benefits. She had a better social sense than he did and far more ambition. It was her guidance and encouragement that had enabled him to climb the rungs of the corporate ladder until he had reached the boardroom itself. This cruise had been one of the rewards.
And yet, once in a while, Lester longed to do something just for himself -
without worrying about the social consequences, or what Rhonda would think.
Rhonda departed and he made his way towards the putting green and its Escher-inspired contours. He could not afterwards explain what impulse led him to visit the Underpool Grille Room first.
The Grille was built around the lower section of the Cirrandaria's main swimming pool, and was largely illuminated by the bluish light that filtered through the large viewports set in the pool sides. One could watch as the swimmers played in the superoxygenated water, which allowed even air-breathers to stay under virtually for as long as they wished.
Lester sat beside one of the ports nursing an orange juice and watched the plunging, twisting forms on the other side of the glass enviously.The water lent even bulky figures a curious grace. Humans were not the only occupants of the pool, and he saw the pseudo-crocodilian form of an amphibian Tritonite glide past with a flick of its tail. Even out here between the stars, it seemed, people were still drawn back to the environment in which they had first evolved.
Might he join them? He wasn't sure he had the nerve to experiment with actual water breathing. Some people's reflexes never allowed them to take in that first lungful. But it looked fun, and he certainly wouldn't get nauseous as he did when he tried freefall games, despite the drugs. He used to be a good swimmer when he was a boy...
He was recalled from his reverie by a tapping on the glass.
Floating just a metre away from him was the young woman he had met at the rail the previous night.
The momentary illusion that he had been accosted by a mermaid
was reinforced by her costume of slender strips of iridescent scales clinging tightly to her skin, and which was clearly intended for decoration rather than concealment. He swallowed, trying hard not to stare, and smiled back at her nervously.
She smiled and waved in turn, then pointed upward. With a kick of her long legs she rose to the surface of the pool.
And Lester found himself rising from his table to follow her.
The Poolside Bar was disguised as a section of tropical beach, complete with sand and palm trees, but without mosquitoes. Thatched awnings shaded tables from a convincingly hot artificial sun, which shone out of a blue sky projected on to the inside of one of the Cirrandaria's larger hull domes. At night, by ship's time, the projectors were turned off and the real stars shone down on the pool. By the time Lester reached the poolside the woman was towelling herself down beside a shaded beach chair. He realised he still didn't know her name and faltered as he approached her.
She seemed to read the cause of his hesitation and held out her hand.
'Ingrid Schollander.'
'Lester Plecht.'
Her grip was firm, her hand still cool from the water. 'Did you need to go off so quickly like that last night?' she asked with unexpected directness.'You missed them leave.' 'My wife. She wanted to get back to sleep.'
'Couldn't you have told her you'd be with her in five minutes? She doesn't run your life, does she?'
Before he had time to think he replied,'She does, actually.' He almost bit his lip in embarrassment. He'd said it out loud to a perfect stranger. Just the sort of thoughtless remark Rhonda had warned him about not twenty minutes earlier.
But to his amazement Ingrid laughed. It wasn't unkind laughter or in any way mocking. It invited him to join in, to see the humour of his unguarded response. He managed a wry grin of his own, then found himself saying,'Can I get you a drink?'
As though in a dream he waved the autowaiter over and ordered a refill for Ingrid's glass and, almost absently, added a stronger drink for himself than any Rhonda had allowed him for five years. Then he found a spare beach chair and drew it up beside Ingrid's. And they talked.
He found out she was twenty-eight, a partner in a small astromining business and unattached. He in turn spoke about his own work. He found he kept mentioning Rhonda, realising as he did so how much she had shaped his life. It felt incongruous in the circumstances, but Ingrid didn't seem to mind, and listened attentively and sympathetically.
And then they moved easily on to tastes in vids, politics, sport and fashion.
It was trivia of no significance whatsoever and an unalloyed delight. She actually laughed at some of the things he said. Deep down he had no illusions that this was the start of some wild affair.
He was twenty years older than she and had nothing she could possibly want. Perhaps it was just her nature to spare him a little time because she felt sorry for him. Well if that was so then he wasn't too proud to refuse. For a little while he could enjoy the pleasure of her company, aware of the envious looks he was drawing from several tanned and muscular young men around the pool.
The difference between Ingrid and Rhonda, Lester realised, was that everything Rhonda did was so calculated, while Ingrid just responded naturally, openly, without any ulterior motive. Ingrid gave while Rhonda took. Ingrid offered her attention freely, and seemed to find pleasure in the all those trivial curiosities and inconsistencies of life that so annoyed Rhonda. When the autowaiter delivered a vile mixed drink to her by mistake, she simply pulled a wry face, laughed, tipped it back into its hopper and told it to try again. Rhonda would have complained to the purser at the very least.
Suddenly Lester saw his watch. How could so much time have passed so quickly? 'I'm sorry. I must go. Rhonda will be back soon to get ready for lunch.'
Ingrid frowned gently. 'Why are you looking so guilty? Have we done anything wrong?'
'No. Of course not. It's been... wonderful. But she wouldn't understand... I mean about us just talking...' He realised he was sounding pathetic.
'You can always say you were cultivating a potential client. Your company deals in management systems. Perhaps we might be interested in them. Or say nothing at all.You don't have to account for every second you're away from her, do you? Doesn't Rhonda trust you at all?'
'She's... overprotective.'
Ingrid looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment, and he found himself melting into the deep blue of her eyes. 'Do you love her?' she asked.
'I did. Once,' he admitted.
"Then stand up for yourself and find out if you still do. Or else why stay together?'
'Habit, I suppose.We've got no children to think of.That might have made a difference, but it never seemed to be the right time to have them.'
'Maybe you should make the time now, before it's too late. Or if your wife doesn't want to, at least find some happiness for yourself.'
Lester wondered if he had the nerve after so long relying on Rhonda to make all the important decisions.The thought was enticing and frightening at the same time.
Ingrid got up, gathered her things and smiled at him. 'I hope I'll see you again. Good luck.'
Lester watched her walk around the side of the pool. She was so beautiful, he thought. Rhonda still had a well-proportioned body and could appear very attractive when they had to attend some business reception. But she never made herself attractive for him any more. Perhaps Ingrid was right.
He should do something before it was too late.
Then he saw Ingrid's left leg twist under her. Her foot skidded sideways over the lip of the pool and she fell heavily.
Lester was at her side in a moment, catching her just before she slithered into the water. As concerned fellow bathers and staff gathered around them he helped her sit up. Her face was pale and creased with pain.
'Are you hurt?' he asked anxiously.
'Gave my knee quite a crack,' she admitted, wincing as she tried to straighten it.
'It's bleeding... and your other leg's grazed.'
'Don't know how I did it. Almost felt like somebody in the pool tugged my ankle.'
"There wasn't anybody in the water near you,' Lester said. 'I would have seen.'
She frowned for a moment, then shrugged and managed a smile. 'Just clumsy, I suppose.'
'We'll get you along to sickbay to have the doc check your knee,' one of the attendants said. 'Just stay there while I fetch a wheelchair.'
'I can walk there myself, thanks,' she said, politely brushing aside their attentions and looking expectantly at Lester. 'As long as somebody will give me an arm.'
And so, acutely conscious of her warm body resting against his, Lester helped Ingrid to her feet and supported her as she limped away from the pool. He realised that the eyes of the young men who had surveyed him earlier were even more envious now.The sensation, far from adding to his embarrassment, made him feel happier than he had done in years.
***
Don Delray sat in his darkened room.
It had taken him a while to convince Evan that he was safe to be left alone, and in the end he had to speak sharply to him. He saw the pain in Arcovian's face at his rebuff, which only added to his own misery. He didn't want to hurt the little man's feelings but he had to have some time to himself. He couldn't continue the act any longer.
Slowly he withdrew his arm from the improvised sling, pulled the loop of cloth over his head and tossed it on to the bed. He flexed his fingers. They felt fine. His leg, which had displayed that convincing limp for the past few hours, moved easily as well. He was a better actor than people gave him credit for - perhaps because he was a craven coward.
He thought Lyset sensed the truth, though she never said anything.
Arcovian was the only other person he allowed close enough to find out, but his nature tended to blind him to people's failings.
Delray went through to the bathroom, rolled up his sleeve and examined his arm.There was a slight bruise on the elbow. For want of anything better
to do he sponged a little cold water on to it.There, he had treated his own injuries. No need to see the ship's doctor after all. Better to keep the sling on for a few days though... He sank his head over the basin in disgust, not wanting to look at his face in the mirror. The bruise was nothing, but then neither was he any more. It had saved his reputation at the cost of his self-respect. And perhaps Lyset's life.
He slunk out of the bathroom and threw himself on the bed.
He'd had no choice but to accompany Lyset when she made it clear she was going to the derelict, despite having a bad feeling about the whole business. Of course he could make patriotic little speeches about standing firm against the Nimosians, but then that was not so hard to say in company, especially when he didn't seriously believe the Nimosians would attack a civilian liner.
Still, he thought he could get away with it. He'd managed in the past when performing those modest stunts himself - getting the best people to set them up, joking on the set about the danger and his concerns, secretly taking a stiff drink just before it was time and then letting it happen. So far it had worked, but it never got any easier. In the fantasy world of the vids he could pretend to do anything. It was real life that scared him, waiting with its unscripted surprises and the big scene that he would foul up by freezing at the crucial moment.
Inevitably, that was what had happened over there on the alien ship.
He didn't think anybody had noticed, during that fusillade of gunfire as those things had attacked them, that he'd been too frightened to pull the trigger of his own gun. He might still have got away with it by grabbing Lyset, who had been coolly taking pictures even as the things bore down on them, if that spawn of a nightmare hadn't snatched her. And there was a moment when he could have fired at it, or thrown himself forward and attacked it with his bare hands. Never mind that it would probably have been a futile gesture, he had been too frightened to move a muscle.
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