Balance of Terror

by K S Augustin

  There was something subtly different about it. Moon stared at the shapeless mass for a moment then, with trembling fingers, she undid the clasps and flung back the flap. Her eyes widened at the same time as her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed on the floor.

  This wasn’t her baggage. It was Srin’s!

  “I can’t see the issue.”

  For what appeared to be the twelfth time, Moon ran a shaky hand through her hair. She and Needann were in a small pod of the Grey Vapour that served as meeting room, canteen and, noting with a distracted glance a collapsible set of panels built into a wall, emergency infirmary. Her yell of anguish at discovering the rucksack switch had brought a crewmember running, followed quickly by Needann, who had summarily directed that a limp and legless Moon be helped to the pod. After a few moments, a glass of cold water had been thrust into her hands and Moon drank the liquid desperately, as if dying of thirst.

  “We’ve got to go back,” she rasped.

  “Go back? Where?” Needann watched her with an air of calm that Moon found infuriating.

  “To Excalibur. No no, to the Unfinished Tale. We must find the Unfinished Tale.”

  “There is nothing left for us at Excalibur, except for discovery and imprisonment. And I don’t know where the Unfinished Tale is.”

  Moon jumped to her feet and began pacing the cramped space. “You must know. We must get in touch with them.”

  “I can’t see the issue,” Needann said.

  “It’s the rucksack! The luggage that was brought on board.”

  “Your luggage.”

  “Yes-no, it’s not mine. You brought Srin’s luggage on the ship.”

  Needann remained silent, watching Moon’s frantic steps with an unfathomable gaze.

  Moon took a few deep breaths. She wouldn’t achieve anything if she became hysterical and she needed Needann to understand the situation as clearly, and as quickly, as possible.

  “You told me that my partner – as you call Srin – is not well,” she began, as calmly as she could.

  “I did.”

  “That’s true. He has several types of medication to keep him alive. They help control his very high fever and stop the convulsions that are a side-effect of the drugs he was on for twenty years.”

  “Yes.”

  Moon shook her head. “Well, I have those drugs. Somehow, in the confusion over the alarm, I got Srin’s bag…and he must have got mine.”

  “Does your bag contain any of his medication?”

  “No.” Moon collapsed onto the chair. “Back on Marentim, we thought it best if Srin held on to everything. You see, we were ordered into separate vehicles by a trader we were travelling with. We didn’t know what was going to happen, whether we would get separated or not. So I gave Srin all the drugs in case Gauder came up with some twisted plan and the both of them hared off to a casino together for a week.”

  Moon closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with tense fingers. “Look, I know I’m not making much sense but, for whatever reason, all the medication that Srin needs is now in the satchel I have. And Srin obviously has my bag.”

  “And your bag doesn’t have any medication?”

  “Maybe it has one or two days’ supply that I may have overlooked when transferring it across to his bag, but certainly not two weeks’!”

  Moon came to a lightning-fast conclusion. She lifted her head and met Needann’s gaze unwaveringly.

  “You’ve got to help me find Srin,” she pleaded, her voice raw. “He is the only person capable of helping me reconstruct SolMil. If he dies, all my research dies with him.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “It’s Moon’s bag.”

  Srin stared at Kad across the low table. Between them, a rucksack sat, emptied of all its contents.

  “And all your medication was in your bag?” Kad asked.

  Srin nodded, causing the other man to sigh deeply and look away for a moment.

  “What made you do that?” he finally demanded. “Didn’t either of you think of contingency planning? Didn’t Moon think of redundancy?” Kad shook his head. “I swear, when I see that woman next—”

  “That had been our plan,” Srin interrupted. “Till we met Gauder. And he found out how fast my brain works.”

  Kad frowned. “Moon didn’t mention any of this. And all I got from Gauder was a set of cryptic sentences that made me wonder if he’d gone temporarily insane.”

  “I think she thought he was a colleague of yours, so she didn’t want to say anything controversial. Besides, we managed to get to 3 Enkil IV, so….” Srin shrugged.

  “What did Gauder do?” Kad bit out, his eyes blazing.

  Briefly, Srin related his and Moon’s experiences on Marentim and their fear that Gauder might take Srin on an extended casino-hopping trip.

  “Because we didn’t know how long a jaunt like that might last, Moon thought it feasible – for the time being – to let me hold all of the medicine. We never intended that to be a long-term solution, but things moved quickly after we found a way to get off Marentim.”

  “Moon was strangely reticent about that as well,” Kad mused. He didn’t look happy.

  Srin laughed. “She can hold secrets when she wants to. We…fell in with a small group of…,” Srin paused, not sure how to describe Quinten Tamlan and his crew.

  “Pirates?” Kad supplied.

  “No, not pirates. I would call them an independent band of freedom-fighters. For a while, we even toyed with the idea of staying with them.” Srin looked up and met Kad’s gaze. “But we had made arrangements to meet you, and I know Moon was wondering how you’d fared since your escape from her lab. Then, too, there was the question of my treatment. But I suppose the point’s moot now.”

  “How much medication was in your rucksack?” Kad asked quietly.

  “Maybe a month’s worth of fever medication, but only a week of anti-convulsive treatment. Moon puts together a mix of generic drugs whenever she can and it’s been helping a bit, but I can already feel my body habituating to it.”

  “What happens if you don’t get that generic mix?”

  “The convulsions can get bad,” Srin admitted, “and they continue even when I sleep. The first few nights, just after we were picked up by the Velvet Storm pirate cartel, I felt as if someone was using a sledgehammer on my body. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when Moon cobbled together her drug mix. I think that pharmacology lost a brilliant student when she decided to pursue a career in physics.”

  “We can always stop somewhere,” Kad made a move as if matching action to words. “Get you the drugs you need.”

  Srin put a hand forward on Kad’s wrist. “No.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you to,” Srin told him calmly. “For a start, you’ll be risking the safety of everyone aboard this vessel. And even if you did manage to get your hands on the drugs, all it means is that I’d be alive when we reached this rendezvous point of yours.”

  “I thought,” Kad said heavily, “that was the whole idea.”

  “Wrong again, Dr. Minslok.” Srin’s voice was steady. “If I turn up alive at your new base, then Needann has her bargaining chip back.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

  A wry smile curved Kad’s lips. “All right. Needann had a plan to keep both of you in separate facilities, but connected via a shielded ultra-fast link. Moon was supposed to work on reconstructing SolMil while you underwent gene therapy treatment. At the end of it, Needann gets a weapon, you get cured and you and Moon get a new life. Everyone lives happily ever after.”

  “I don’t see how that would work,” Srin objected. “How could anyone live happily ever after with a weapon like that at their disposal?” He paused, searching Kad’s face. “She’ll use it, won’t she?”

  Kad hesitated, then nodded. “That was part of the plan.”

  “And if I’m at the rendezvous point,” Srin mused, �
��then I weaken Moon’s objections while strengthening Needann’s position.” Srin shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  Srin swallowed but his voice remained steady. “Let me die.”

  Kad’s eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t know that I can do that.”

  “I thought the equation was quite simple,” Srin told him. “With me out of the picture, Needann doesn’t have a hold over Moon any more. And Moon will be free to live out the rest of her life without being bothered by anyone.”

  “And you’re prepared to sacrifice your life for Moon’s wellbeing?” Kad enunciated each word clearly, as if Srin was contemplating doing something insane.

  Srin cocked an eyebrow at him. “Would you rather sacrifice the lives of everyone within the system Needann is thinking of destroying?”

  “Srin, I—”

  “Once the convulsions start, I find it difficult to think of anything else. That’s why I’m telling you this now. Let me die.”

  They spent the next two hours rehashing the same arguments, but both men were intransigent in their positions. Kad wanted to save Srin’s life, and Srin wanted to end it. Kad had never met anyone more stubborn in his life and, considering his life so far encompassed both Moon Thadin and Needann, he considered that a major understatement. He tried logic, he tried humour, he tried to tempt Srin with a hedonistic life with Moon on a planet he knew. But the one thing he could not force himself to do was promise that the price for such happiness didn’t include the construction of a star-bursting missile.

  “By the time Needann uses the weapon, you’ll be on the other side of the galaxy,” Kad said, trying a different gambit.

  “And you think we won’t know?” Srin retorted. “From the moment we restart Moon’s research, we’ll already know how it ends, a story with only tragedy as a conclusion.”

  But Kad wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Needann may not use it. If we can convince the Republic that we have a working solar missile, negotiations may begin without a single life being lost.”

  “If Needann has the weapon,” Srin replied, “she’ll use it. We both know that, we could see it in her eyes.”

  And Kad remained silent, because he had no flippant counter to the truth of Srin’s statement.

  Mid-morning, two days later, Srin’s body began to react to the lack of drugs. Kad noticed it as a series of tremors rocking Srin’s body as they sat over a board game. Neither man said anything, pretending that the sound of the furniture rattling was a natural progression of the smooth glide of the Unfinished Tale through hyperspace. As the day progressed, however, the trembling became worse. Finally, unable to ignore the signs in front of his eyes, Kad ordered Srin to the infirmary and went rampaging to the Tale’s cockpit.

  “Is there anywhere we can stop?” Kad demanded of his ship’s navigator, not wasting breath on any preliminaries. “Any trader we can trust in the vicinity? We need access to wide-spectrum drugs to treat fever and muscular spasms.”

  The navigator looked sympathetic, but shook her head. “We’re currently skirting the edge of the Fodox Stellar Barrens. There are no planets, no traders…there’s nothing out here.”

  “And if we continue on our current route?”

  She referred to their ship plan and moved her lips silently as she did some quick calculations in her head. “On our current heading, we’ll hit the next crease in three days. We won’t be anywhere where we can procure the drugs you need for another week.”

  “A week?” Kad repeated. “Damn it, but he could be dead by then.”

  His navigator looked at him helplessly and didn’t say a word.

  Thinking furiously, Kad walked back slowly to the infirmary. Was there anything he was missing? Any way, short of magically conjuring Srin’s pack out of thin air, that he could save the man’s life? Maybe, he thought, his navigator was wrong. Maybe she had erred in her calculations. But he knew he was trying to grasp at the solar wind with such suppositions. His navigator, an experienced member of his crew, was smart and professional. If she told him they were one week away from a likely trading post, then that was a fact. And he knew the Fodox Stellar Barrens and their position relative to it. In short, they were traversing a galactic desert, devoid of stars, life and – therefore – trading opportunities.

  “What do we have on hand?” he demanded of the medic the moment he entered the medical bay. “Anything that can treat Flerovs?”

  “Some,” the man agreed, “but not all.”

  “I thought we were talking about generics here,” Kad pointed out, his voice hard. “Don’t we have an entire supply of medication to handle emergencies?”

  “Emergencies like explosive decompression, severed limbs, space freeze, yes,” the medic answered, “but not this. To be honest, I’m not sure if I can get the right mix together in the time we have left. From his own history, Dr. Flerovs has been reacting well to the combination Dr. Thadin was giving him, but what was in that combination? We don’t even have a sample to go by.

  “I could guess but we may not have everything available and,” frustration flooded the man’s voice, “if I unknowingly omit one or two elements, who knows what might happen? I could even make things worse.”

  Angry – at Srin, at Needann, at the entire situation – Kad strode past him and towards the last bunk in the bay. Srin was strapped down for his own safety, but his body still railed against the tremors that racked his body.

  “Can’t we give him something?” Kad demanded, looking over his shoulder.

  The medical officer shrugged. “Knowing the risks, do you really want me to?”

  “Yes. No.” Anguished, Kad looked down at Srin. Grey eyes opened and pierced him to his soul. It was only a flash, an instant, but Kad knew what Srin was trying to say.

  Let me die. You promised.

  “I cannot.”

  The words reverberated in Moon’s head like missile detonations.

  She couldn’t eat or rest. She couldn’t sit quietly nor could she keep herself active. Everything she did, even down to the breaths she dragged into her lungs, appeared trivial – futile even – next to her frantic concern for Srin. Moon’s confrontation earlier in the day with Needann, the demand that the woman do something to help Srin, had failed and all that was left for her to do was to keep pushing until something broke. Whether that would be Needann, or her, wasn’t certain.

  “I cannot,” Needann repeated flatly. “We only have the rendezvous point and a time window to reach it. How each ship gets to that point is up to the crew of that ship.”

  “You can’t contact them at all?” Moon insisted, more than a little wildly.

  Needann gazed at her steadily. “No. That is also part of the protocol.”

  “But if Srin dies,” Moon persisted, “then your dream of destroying the Republic dies with it.”

  “You speak a truth, Thadin, but protocols have a reason. Even if I knew their approximate position, were I to attempt contact, they would not answer. It would be a breach of security.”

  “If they knew it was us, they’d reply. I’m sure of it.”

  “I cannot.”

  “So we’re just supposed to let him die?” The words caught in Moon’s throat.

  “We are to follow protocol. When we reach the rendezvous point, we will find out what happened with Minslok and Flerovs.”

  “It’ll be too late then,” Moon told her savagely. “You’ve got to find them now! Find the Unfinished Tale. Order Kad to rendezvous with this ship of yours.”

  Needan shook her head slowly. “I cannot.”

  I cannot.

  At one time, back in her office, that was the exact opposite of what Needann had said. Then, she had told Moon of all she could do. Take a technology, don the cloak of a vengeful deity, and strike death into the heart of the Republic. Now, suddenly, she couldn’t even contact the next trusted person in her network. And, because of that, Srin would lose his life.

  Moon pi
nned a stony expression on her face and got to her feet. Without a word, she turned her back on the rebel leader and stalked back to her cramped quarters. When she was sure that the door was securely closed, Moon fell to the edge of a seat, dropped her head in her hands and began sobbing.

  “No,” she croaked. “After all we’ve gone through, it can’t come to this. Space Fleet, Security Force, drug crashes, Republic dragnets, only to be brought down by a damned swapped bag!”

  Hot, fat tears ran down her arms and splattered on the tight-weave floor covering between her legs, making soft muted sounds upon impact.

  A part of her knew that Srin would have preferred it like this – it was his way of being noble, of giving her a life while sacrificing his own – but she had always thought she was smart enough to find a way out of their dilemma. Wasn’t she Moon Thadin, groomed to be the youngest Professor Prime in Republic space? Wasn’t she the person who almost single-handedly created an entirely new subset of mathematics to do with the insertion and behaviour of cold plasma into volatile, high-gravity entities? But she couldn’t even save her own partner – the man who had taught her that she could be brilliant and feminine at the same time.

  There was only one piece of good news in the entire morbid mess. Right now, there was no way Needann could force Moon to restart her research. Not if – Moon swallowed – Srin wasn’t around any more. But was that the price for keeping a system safe? That she should sacrifice the one man who showed his fidelity towards her time and time again, never wavering even for a second? Was a dubious peace to sustain a despotic regime really a better alternative than having just one person to call her own and to hope to grow old with?

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