Yanur could tell him the truth, but how soon before Romanof returned to the ship? Even then, there was no guarantee he'd come back for her. Worse yet, what if he ran into trouble and never returned to the ship?
She could be there a long, long time.
She should have been more panicked at the thought, but her mind and body were feeling strangely relaxed, almost numb. She tried to focus on her situation but found it impossible to form a coherent thought. When the darkness rose up to envelop her, she didn't even try to fight it.
Chapter 7
The first tendrils of consciousness for Nicoli were like wisps of fairyfog at early dawn on Beta Four, insubstantial and hard to grasp. As he became more alert, he noticed that his field of awareness was limited once again to his corporeal self and he breathed a sigh of relief. While he had enjoyed the almost omniscient awareness he’d had while interfacing with the ship’s computer, he wholeheartedly welcomed the limitations of his old body.
After the transfer was complete, he continued to lie where he was, eyes closed. Systematically, he flexed and relaxed muscles, satisfied that, despite a sluggishness which he had anticipated, everything seemed to be functioning. At least so far. It was time to rejoin the living.
He opened his eyes and saw...nothing.
He blinked several times, hoping to restore his vision, but to no avail. He felt as if he were lying in the center of a dark, cosmic void - all alone. He closed his eyes and fought the thin thread of fear trying to weave its way into his consciousness. It felt foreign and unwelcome. He struggled to reclaim the cold logic on which he’d built a reputation, a career, a life.
It would seem there were some prices to be paid for the out-of-body time he’d spent. He put himself through a series of mathematical exercises, forcing the emotional side of his brain into submission so he could think logically.
Concentrating, he opened his eyes again. This time, he realized his blindness was more a lack of light, not sight. Relieved, he tried to sit, but his body seemed heavier than he remembered and the weight of it pressed down upon him. He put a hand out to his side to push himself up, but pulled it back sharply when it hit an invisible barrier. When nothing further happened, he tentatively reached out again. This time, when his hand touched the barrier, he pushed at it experimentally. It gave easily.
On his next effort, he tried to grab at the barrier and succeeded in collecting a fistful of a heavy material. Then he realized that he was lying under some type of covering. Still clutching the material, he pulled down with all of his strength and felt the material shift. He released his grip and grabbed a new fistful, higher up, and pulled again. Again, it shifted. He repeated the process until the covering finally slipped to the floor.
Fresh air hit his face and he breathed it in with such welcomed relief that not even the sight of the dead man on top of him could dampen it.
A memory stirred. Just before starting the transfer, Michels had told him he'd have company beneath the drape. It was coming back to him, slowly.
Knowing he couldn't remain where he was, Nicoli began the cumbersome process of working his way out from beneath the body. It took some maneuvering, but he finally broke free and let himself fall to the floor. A wad of clothing landed beside him.
Feeling a bit shaky, he pushed himself to his feet and stood there, letting his mind adjust to the fact that his body was now standing. Feeling more in control, he looked around.
A sea of prone, lifeless bodies surrounded him, but he was alone. He'd half expected Michels to be lurking about and was relieved that the young pilot had actually followed his instructions and returned to the ship.
Bending down to retrieve the drape, his gaze fell on the wad of clothing and discarded boots. After covering the body, he picked up the clothing which turned out to be a Harvester's robe wrapped around a shirt and pair of pants that, in turn, were wrapped around the transfer disc and pod. Nicoli frowned. Obviously, Michels had left these and while he appreciated the gesture, he would have preferred being left clothing that actually fit. Even the boots, he discovered, were too small for his feet.
With a sigh, he stuffed the clothes, with the disc and pod, into the over-sized pocket of the Harvester's robe. The boots he’d have to leave behind.
As he pulled the Harvester robe over his head, he turned his thoughts to his mission. He needed to find the Harvesters’ core of operations. From experience, he knew that no one ran an operation like this without computers. So maybe if he could find the central servers, he could find clues to what made the Harvesters tick and more important, how to bring them down. Nicoli was declaring war on the Harvesters, but it would not be one waged with might. This war would be waged with devious intelligence.
He walked to the doorway and cautiously peeked into the front room. Seeing no one, he continued through, walking past rows of donors to another door. He listened for sounds from the other side, but after hearing nothing, he opened the door and looked out into the hallway beyond. All clear.
He remembered that Michels and the Harvester had taken a lift down to the lower level, which meant that's where he was now. He started down the hallway hoping he was heading toward the lift. About to pass a door on his left, he stopped. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go to the upper levels to find a computer.
Approaching the door, he cautiously opened it only to find it was a storage closet.
He moved to the next door. As soon as he opened it, he was assaulted by the feted, putrid smell of rotting flesh.
Covering his nose and mouth with his hand, he moved into the room, just barely making out the still forms lying atop gurneys. There were four bodies in all and though they still wore collars, these bodies were past controlling. No pulse beat where Nicoli laid his fingertips against first their wrists and then their necks. For a culture that seemed to value cleanliness, as he assumed from Michel’s description of the planet and the number of decontam-units, why would they leave bodies lying around to rot?
Nicoli left the room, taking deep breaths of untainted air after shutting the door behind him. There were two doors left. He opened the first.
It was another donor holding area, much like the one in which he’d awakened. He stepped into the outer room and glanced around. Various pieces of equipment lined the walls, but nothing resembled a computer. The air smelled sterile and clean. The bodies of the donors appeared healthy - and oddly similar.
Acting on a hunch, he raised the eye-lid of the first donor and stared into a violet iris. He continued down the first row, checking the eye color of each blonde-haired donor. Every one of them had the same light-purple eye color. To Nicoli's knowledge, there was only one planet where the dominant race of inhabitants had platinum hair and violet eyes: Coronado.
Why would there be so many?
Pondering the possible reasons, his gaze was drawn to a woman who stood out from the rest. He walked over to her, wanting a closer look.
Her dark hair created a wild halo about her head. She was stunning and the thought caught him by surprise. He had known many beautiful women in his life. That he couldn’t recall a single one of them at this moment had to be due to his recent transfer experience and nothing more.
Delicately carved features were set in a complexion as pure as the finest brushed porcelain. Accenting her closed eyes were dark lashes so long they brushed the tops of her cheeks.
Feeling like a voyeur, his eyes flitted down her form before he could stop himself. Once he started, he couldn't look away. His gaze traveled down the slender column of her throat to the gentle swell of her breasts, each tipped with the same dusky pink of her lips, the same shade as the setting Althusian sun on a warm summer’s night. He felt his body harden at the sight of her and fought to bring himself under control.
Bruises and scratches marred the smooth complexion of her chest. They formed the pattern of a hand, each bruise the imprint of a separate finger, each scrape the width of a nail. At her side was a gash, more serious than the other wounds. Blind rag
e engulfed him. She had fought for her life and won this living death as her reward.
Nicoli felt the pain of his clenched fists and forced them open. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. It was imperative that he regain control of his emotions before--
“What are you doing in here?”
Silently chastising himself for not being more alert, Nicoli spun around to see a robed figure standing there. He - Nicoli assumed the figure was male from the pitch of his voice - was Nicoli’s height, though stockier, if the width of the robe was any clue. Nicoli saw the downward tilt of the man’s head and knew his bare feet had been spotted.
“I think you’d better come with me.” He grabbed Nicoli’s arm, but Nicoli jerked free.
Angered, the man lunged. Nicoli used the man’s forward momentum to hurl him into the gurneys sending both gurneys and donors crashing to the floor.
The exertion left Nicoli feeling dizzy and he was forced to bend over and wait for the world to right itself inside his head. Unfortunately, the Harvester recovered first. His fist caught Nicoli on the side of the head and sent him stumbling to the side, crashing into gurneys, knocking more bodies to the floor. In their lifeless forms, Nicoli saw his fate if he didn't win this fight.
Energized by that fear, when the Harvester came at him again, Nicoli was ready. It was quickly apparent that the Harvester was not a fighter and his earlier success had been due to luck rather than skill. With each successive punch, Nicoli's body remembered its training. The Harvester was outmatched and Nicoli's next punch knocked him unconscious.
Nicoli, weakened by the effort, nearly followed the Harvester down when he sank to the floor. Instead, he bent over, hands braced against his knees, and tried to recover.
As his breathing quieted and became more regular, Nicoli heard a soft moan. He glanced at the Harvester and waited. Beneath the robe, it was impossible to tell if the man was waking up, but his body hadn't moved.
The moan came again, but further off to the side. Nicoli tracked it to one of the fallen donor bodies.
That's impossible.
It came again, a little louder this time, drawing Nicoli's attention to the dark-haired beauty he'd admired before.
Nicoli knelt over her, logic telling him the noise couldn’t possibly be coming from her, and rolled her gently onto her back. As he did so, the metal collar, which had already been dislodged, came completely off. Almost immediately, her eyes fluttered open.
Stunned, Nicoli couldn't move. He had no idea what to expect. The Harvesters had cleansed her mind, so the eyes opening was nothing more than an involuntary muscle reaction - right? This was nothing more than a living, breathing shell devoid of any intelligence or self-awareness. This was "lights on but no one's manning the space station."
Leave her. You have a mission to perform with thousands of lives hanging in the balance.
Yet, he couldn't seem to tear his gaze from those violet eyes staring up at him. They sparkled like twin Althusian gemstones, going from rich purple to icy blue depending on the light. Then, to his utter amazement, her gaze focused on him.
At first, he thought he'd imagined it. The lighting in the lab only made it appear as if she was becoming aware. He almost had himself convinced when her eyes grew wide in obvious fear - of him.
"It's okay, you're sa--"
The heel of her hand shot up, hitting him in the nose and ending any attempt to soothe her.
Chapter 8
Caught by surprise, Nicoli fell back, his eyes watering from the sting of pain. He watched with almost a detached curiosity as the woman scrambled clumsily to her feet. She whirled around and started running away from him only to stumble into the row of donors blocking her escape.
Giving a small cry of alarm, she whirled around and raced down the open aisle and through the door at the back of the room.
Still blinking away the tears, Nicoli raised a hand to cradle his injured nose and was surprised to touch fabric instead of skin. He’d forgotten he was wearing the robe. No wonder she'd run from him.
From the back room came the sound of furniture or equipment crashing to the floor. Damn. If he didn’t stop her soon, she’d have every Harvester in the building coming after them.
With a heartfelt groan, he pushed to his feet and headed for the back room, pulling the hood off his face as he went. He'd just reached the open doorway when a pale blur barreled into him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her in place against his chest as much to keep them both from falling backwards as to keep her from running away again. He didn't want to bruise the delicate skin he touched, but her struggling made it nearly impossible to use a gentle touch.
"Let me go, you cold-blooded murderer," she yelled, twisting violently in his arms.
“Quiet!" He hissed. "Do you want every Harvester in the building to hear you?”
The woman managed to get an arm free and started beating at his face and shoulders. He fended off her attacks as best he could with one arm, much too aware of the nude body he held close to his own.
“I won’t let you take me.” She lifted her leg to knee him in the groin. He saw it coming, but not in time to dodge the blow altogether.
“Mother-oumpf. ” He swallowed the words, feeling his control snap. This was no vacuous shell of a person fighting in his arms.
Placing his free arm against her throat, he forced her backwards until he had her pinned to the wall. He pressed, cutting off her air, until she ceased her struggles and stared up at him, eyes round with fear, but still defiant. With each labored breath she took, her breasts pressed into his chest, distracting him.
“I’m not a Harvester,” he growled. “But if you want to see one, keep up this racket and the whole damn room will be full of them. Is that what you want?”’ He eased up on the pressure at her throat slightly. “I can’t hear you.”
“N...no,” she croaked.
“I didn’t think so. Now, are you going to shut up or," he increased the pressure at her throat again, “am I going to have to find another way to silence you?”
She shot him a lethal look, but remained quiet. He slowly took his arm away from her throat but he wasn't about to release her, not until he was sure she wouldn't run.
They stood in silence, sizing up one another.
"If you're not a Harvester, then who are you?" She finally asked.
"Donor. Same as you. Right now, we're in a donor holding room.”
“How did I get here?”
“I assume the Harvesters brought you? Do you remember being taken?"
Her look turned inward, as if she were chasing a memory. Then she frowned and shook her head. “No.”
He wasn't surprised. If the Harvesters' attempts to cleanse her mind hadn't destroyed the memory, then the shock of the experience itself had probably been so traumatic that her mind was blocking it. He was struggling with how to reassure her without adding to her alarm when her expression changed to one of shock.
“Where are my clothes?” She demanded, giving him a shove hard enough to let her go.
“I don’t know. This is how I found you.”
Crossing her arms to cover herself, she made some reply, but he’d stopped listening. He thought he'd heard a sound coming from the hallway. Placing a hand over her mouth, he raised a finger to his lips, gesturing her to silence. When she nodded that she understood, he took her arm and led her back into the room she'd just come from.
The sound of the door to the outer room opening had Nicoli moving them off to the side, up against the wall, out of sight.
“Harvesters,” he whispered. As the footsteps grew louder, he played out possible scenarios in his mind, calculating how long it would take to reach the door should a Harvester step through and what he might use as a weapon. There were so many factors beyond his control - including the woman. He prayed she wouldn’t panic.
As the Harvester moved around, Nicoli tried to judge his position from the sound of his footsteps. There was an exclamation w
hen the overturned gurneys and fallen donor bodies were found. This was quickly followed by the sound of footsteps hurrying up and down aisles. Nicoli assumed the Harvester was checking the room for additional signs of disturbance. What would happen when he found the unconscious Harvester who was lying much too close to the room in which Nicoli and the woman currently hid?
Nicoli looked around hoping for a better hiding place only to realize there was none. This was a work area, with countertops and small cabinets lining the walls and an open workbench down the center. Various pieces of equipment lay scattered or broken on the floor, which explained the sounds he'd heard when the woman had run into the room earlier. He made a mental note to ask her if she was hurt, but just then, the sound of the footsteps grew louder.
Nicoli pushed the woman behind him, ready to face the danger head on and shield her as best he could. Not that he relished the idea of another fight. He was still feeling the aches and pains of the last one.
There was, of course, a slim chance they wouldn't be noticed. Hoping to avoid a fight completely, Nicoli reached back and, placing his hand on the woman’s hip, applied gentle pressure. Together, they stepped to the side until they were neatly wedged behind the open door. Even with his full attention on the Harvester's movements in the outer room, it was impossible not to notice the smooth feel of the woman's skin or the quick hitch of her breath at his touch.
Realistically, their position was scant protection should they be discovered, but it was the best he could come up with. At least he would have the element of surprise on his side should it be needed.
The seconds dragged by as they waited. Of its own traitorous accord, his mind drifted to thoughts of long shapely legs topped by curvaceous hips. The woman was tall and pressed together as they were, he couldn’t help but think how perfectly she fit against him. Her breasts rubbing against his back with each breath she took had become a tortuous test of his control.
The sudden scuff of a shoe on the other side of the door caught his attention. He couldn’t see the Harvester, but imagined him standing in the open doorway, looking in. The door inched toward them and Nicoli pressed back further against the woman, sucking in his breath to allow the door more room to move freely.
Too Close to the Sun (The Sun 1) Page 9