Of course I’d refused. And then I’d gone home and cried and cried, while my mother tried to reassure me that it would be better one day, that high school wasn’t the whole world. My sixteen-year-old self hadn’t believed her. Now I knew that she’d been right, but it didn’t seem as if I was going to get my chance to experience that world. No, instead I was being held captive on a Reptilian spaceship.
“Anyway,” I went on, knowing that Gideon had noted my hesitation but making sure he wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask any more awkward questions, “it was a little tense from time to time, but I got through it. Comes with the territory. Even with some of the problems they’ve caused me, I still wouldn’t want to not have my powers. They’re part of who I am.”
He was quiet, apparently thinking over what I’d just told him. Once again I caught a drift of emotion, one that made my breath catch.
Desire.
Not exactly in the sense of him wanting to drag me down the hall and into his bedroom so he could have his wicked way with me, but…need. Wanting to take me in his arms and hold me close, kiss me.
A flush of heat went through my body right then, although I honestly couldn’t say whether it had come from Gideon, or whether it was simply me reacting to what I’d just felt drifting outward from his thoughts. I clenched my knees together under the table and told myself I couldn’t let him affect me this way. I’d be falling right in with his father’s plans, and I wasn’t about to give Lir Shalan the satisfaction.
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Gideon, why am I here?”
A sharp tingle of anxiety then, right before he pushed it back. “You’re our honored guest.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Are we going to have this discussion again?”
“Yes,” I said, forcing myself to stare into his eyes, to show him I wasn’t about to back down. In this light, I could see the beautiful traceries in his reddish irises, swirls of garnet and ruby, cabernet and merlot. Before that moment, I hadn’t realized how gorgeous those eyes were, alien though they might be.
“All right,” he said. He laid his hands flat on the tabletop and met my gaze squarely without blinking. “You are our guest, Taryn, even if you don’t want to believe me when I tell you that. But we’re also studying you, of course. Your behavior, how your powers might be manifesting.”
“They’re not manifesting at all,” I pointed out, pleased that I’d gotten even that bit of a confession out of him. “Like I told you earlier, my powers don’t work at all on Reptilians. I might as well be trying to read the thoughts of that desk over there, or the biometric panels you use to lock your doors.”
Did he believe me? Hard to say, because my words hadn’t elicited any particular flare of emotion from him. He did study me for a few seconds longer, our gazes still locked, while I tried to stare back at him as guilelessly as possible. Right then I remembered how Kirsten had once said that the leader of the alien base in Sedona — not Lir Shalan, but a Reptilian who had died when she blasted him and his followers off Courthouse Butte — had managed to invade her thoughts on several occasions. I could only pray that Gideon didn’t have similar talents.
But then he shrugged and said, “That’s unfortunate,” and went to pick up his spork so he could return to his neglected meal. I couldn’t let out a sigh of relief, but I also lifted my shoulders, glad that he hadn’t detected anything strange in my expression. It didn’t seem that he could read my mind, or else he would have known I was covering something up. Maybe Lir Shalan’s line didn’t possess that particular gift, or maybe it was different when the person a Reptilian was contacting was Pleiadian, rather than straight-up human.
Either way, I couldn’t help feeling that I’d just dodged a rather large bullet.
CHAPTER FIVE
I wish I could say that the Reptilians had changed their minds and had decided to send me home once they realized they wouldn’t be able to get any particularly useful information out of me, but of course that wasn’t the case. The room I’d been given was more comfortable than a prison cell, but it served basically the same purpose.
Gideon did come to see me once a day, usually so we could share lunch. It seemed that the largest meal on board ship was the one served at midday, and so that was the time when he would come to fetch me and take me to his suite. Each time I wondered if he was going to try anything, but so far he’d been very well-behaved.
Not for lack of trying on his father’s part, though. I had plenty of time to spend taking astral walks around the ship, and I did my share of spying on the Reptilian commander and his son. Their language was still a mystery to me, and Lir Shalan’s thoughts equally so, but I could tell things were becoming increasingly strained between the two of them. How long it would take before that particular powder keg blew, I had no idea. I just knew I really didn’t want to be around when it happened.
Problem was, there didn’t seem to be any way for me to escape. When I wasn’t snooping on Gideon and his father, I wandered the corridors of the Eclipse, trying to get a better idea of its scale, of how many people — to use the term loosely — were on board. The ship seemed enormous to me, about as big as if someone had taken my favorite mall down in Phoenix and had put propulsion units on it and sent it into space. Strangely, though, the huge vessel didn’t appear to have nearly the crew you’d think a ship of that size would need to keep operating. I guessed that a lot of its functions were automated, but still, I couldn’t quite figure out how it was all supposed to work.
The Reptilians were a taciturn lot, though. They didn’t seem to talk to one another very much, and when they did, it looked to me like they were discussing matters that had to do with the ship’s operations and nothing else. As Gideon had said, they didn’t take their meals together, but ate alone in their rooms.
And although I couldn’t claim to be an expert in Reptilian physiology, it looked to me as if every one of those crew members was male. Maybe their women looked exactly the same as their men, but I didn’t think so. True, one couldn’t claim that the aliens were terribly progressive when it came to how they treated women. Even so, I’d have thought you’d catch a glimpse of at least a woman or two among the thousands who served on the Eclipse.
I couldn’t ask Gideon, though. So far I’d managed to keep my out-of-body wanderings a complete secret, and I needed things to stay that way. Although a lot of the intelligence I’d gathered didn’t seem all that useful, I was glad that I could at least get out and about, even if it was in an incorporeal form. If Gideon discovered what I was doing…. Well, I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t even know if there was a way to prevent a person from traveling astrally, but I really didn’t want to find out.
But, as far as I could tell, he hadn’t noticed anything. My days — eight in all so far — had followed the same unvarying schedule. No matter what else was going on, he always showed up for lunch at exactly noon, or what was noon ship-time, anyway. My second day on the Eclipse, he’d brought me an older tablet computer, one that had all its personal data carefully erased but which still contained a decent library of movies and TV shows, and an even bigger library of books. Nothing more recent than about five years ago, which told me when the computer’s former owner had probably run afoul of the Reptilians, or possibly one of their “Grey” minions. I’d thanked Gideon for the gift and had forced myself not to ask any questions.
Anyway, the tablet had given me a clock that I could follow, so I was able to keep track of the days passing, and to know a little more of what happened when on board the ship. And it was good to have the books and the movies to keep me occupied for those times when I was just too heartsick and tired to summon the mental discipline that would send me into my astral state.
I missed my family. After seeing how Callista had just left the nest in a typically spectacular fashion, I’d been chafing to get out of the house, wondering if maybe I should sublet an apartment for a few months un
til it was time to transfer to NAU and move to Flagstaff. Circumstances had intervened, however, and I hadn’t gotten very far with those plans. Now, though, I just wanted to be back in the house that was the only home I’d ever known, to be able to participate in one of our lively dinnertime conversations about politics and science and books and anything else that had caught our interest that day. To see the crinkles at the corners of my father’s eyes as he teased my mother about something, or to hear her goofy laugh as she tried to tell a joke she’d heard from Kara Rinehart earlier that day. All those silly trivial things you don’t realize you miss until you don’t have them anymore.
Needless to say, I did my best to keep my longing for home a secret. Once or twice I contemplated asking whether I could send a message to my family, just to let everyone know I was all right. But every time the request rose to my lips, I’d look at Gideon, at the firm set of his mouth and the cool expression in his eyes, and I knew there was no point. I had to make him think I was content.
When I was around him, I answered his questions, tried to make sure that I was always matter-of-fact and good-spirited. There were still those awkward moments when I sensed his need for me, or when I found my gaze lingering on his mouth a little longer than was strictly necessary, but I thought I was doing a decent job of keeping it together. I didn’t want to think about the way I’d keep my eye on the time stamp in the upper corner of my borrowed tablet’s screen, counting down the minutes until it was time for him to show up and take me to lunch. That sort of preoccupation — distracting me from reading or watching a show or playing a game — told me I wasn’t nearly as detached as I wanted to be.
However, I also wasn’t strong enough to tell Gideon that I didn’t want to share those meals with him, that since I was a prisoner here, I might as well be treated like one and kept in solitary. I found myself craving his company, wishing we could spend more than that hour or so together each day. And by doing so, I knew I was playing right into Lir Shalan’s hands.
I just didn’t know what in the world I was supposed to do about it.
Gideon hadn’t made a move, though, which of course only contributed to his father’s increasing ire. It was almost as if he was sitting back and waiting to see if I would do something first, which I knew wouldn’t happen. Not because I didn’t want it to — I’d stopped lying to myself on that point a few days earlier — but because I didn’t want to think about what the consequences of giving in to that sort of weakness might be.
But then there came the sort of blowout that could only make you grateful no one ended up dead, or in jail. All right, jail wasn’t really a possibility when it came to either Gideon or Lir Shalan. I did know that if our neighbors had ever had the kind of confrontation the alien and his son shared on the eleventh day of my captivity, my father would have been on the phone to the police.
Gideon had seemed edgy that day at lunch, but I hadn’t pressed him for an explanation. I could guess well enough. Besides, he wouldn’t have told me the truth even if I had asked. Admitting that he was at odds with his father would only have been an admission of weakness.
My curiosity got the better of me, and after our meal, I once again made my way to Lir Shalan’s suite. It seemed they always had their confrontations there, as if the alien leader wanted to assert his dominance by having his son come to him, rather than vice versa. And I supposed it worked, in a way; that apartment was pretty intimidating. Also, even though Gideon was quite tall, Lir Shalan had the full height of the Reptilian race on his side, and used it to dominate the situation whenever he could.
He was looming over his son when my astral self slipped through the wall. Gideon — well, with his complexion, he couldn’t exactly go pale, but there was something drained and pinched about his face that seemed to be the equivalent of pallor. And I could sense the anger and frustration shooting out from him, almost as brilliant and terrible as a flame.
Lir Shalan’s hissing voice grated against my ears, disembodied as I was. If it bothered me that much, I didn’t really want to think about what it might be doing to his son. But Gideon shook his head, jaw set, and said something that sounded nearly as cutting.
Back and forth they went. Then, so lightning fast I could barely see it, Lir Shalan’s left hand came up and pounded Gideon across the jaw so hard that he stumbled.
He didn’t fall, though. He stood his ground, eyes glaring with red fire. A few words in the Reptilians’ sibilant tongue, and then he brought one hand against his chest in a sort of mocking salute. The next minute, he was stalking out the door.
Lir Shalan remained where he was, ruby eyes almost slits. He muttered something under his breath before going over to a wall and punching it. The metal buckled, and streaks of black blood showed on the shining surface, but the alien leader made his own exit a second or two after that, apparently oblivious to the injury he’d just caused himself. And then the metal appeared to ripple and smooth itself out, erasing every sign of the dent that had been there a few seconds earlier.
Could your heart pound like crazy when you weren’t even in your physical body? I’d never thought so before that moment. It was beating wildly, as hard as if I’d just run a marathon. But then I realized that I’d better get back to my room as quickly as I could. By that point, I knew the layout of the ship well enough that it wasn’t necessary for my astral form to carefully follow each corridor and use the elevator shaft to get from floor to floor. No, I shot upward, passing through bulkheads and walls as if they didn’t exist.
I reentered my body with a sharp crack, one I was sure must have been audible to anyone standing nearby. Luckily, I was alone, and so didn’t have to worry about giving myself away.
Not a moment too soon, though. I was sitting in my body, gasping and trying to reorient myself, when the squeal of the door chime penetrated the room.
Had Gideon really come here immediately after that confrontation with his father?
Apparently so, because when I opened the door, I saw him standing outside in the corridor, his complexion still that pasty greenish tone — except for a darker splotch on the right side of his face, the exact spot where Lir Shalan had hit him.
“G-Gideon?” I stammered, thinking that it wouldn’t seem too out of character for me to be surprised by his sudden appearance. I didn’t know exactly what time it was, but lunch had been hours ago.
“Taryn,” he replied. His voice was calm. Too calm, probably. “Would you come with me, please?”
I swallowed. I didn’t know exactly what he had planned, but I worried it was nothing good. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of how in the world I might refuse.
“Sure, Gideon.” There. That had sounded almost normal. After all, I couldn’t know anything of what had just passed between him and his father. While it might be strange for him to call on me at a time other than lunch, I couldn’t act as if such an occurrence was anything except mildly puzzling. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t gone with him to his suite on many other occasions.
My compliance didn’t seem to have reassured him, though. His mouth was still pressed into a thin line, and he didn’t speak as he led me out of my room and along the familiar route to the elevators.
Usually we would pass some crew members when we reached the level where his suite was located. Today, though, the hallway was deserted. I didn’t want to think about what that meant. Maybe nothing at all. Just coincidence.
Right.
Gideon opened the door for me, and I headed into the apartment as I always did, my destination the spot by the window where I could look down at lovely, lost Earth. He’d always allowed me those few moments to take in the view, to think of the people down there I missed so terribly.
Today, though, he kept pace with me before surging ahead so he could slap his hand down on a control panel to the left of the window. At once a dark film descended, obscuring Earth and the starfield in which it floated.
“No need to waste time with that,” he said coldly.
I looked up at him in surprise and a little fear. I knew I should have been trying to react the way a Taryn who had no idea what was going on would have, but the expression on his face and the tone of his voice frightened me more than I wanted to admit. “Gideon, what’s the matter?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved away from me and toward the kitchen area where the food synthesizer was located. He didn’t give it any commands, however. Still without speaking, he reached up and slid open one of the metal cupboards, drawing out a squat glass bottle nearly filled with amber-colored liquid.
It was no alien liquor, though. Even from where I stood, I could make out the letters on the bottle.
Maker’s Mark.
What the hell?
Gideon must have seen the question in my eyes, because he offered me a bitter smile before retrieving a pair of shot glasses from that same cupboard and setting them down on the counter. “A little souvenir from planet Earth,” he said. “I’m sure my father knows I have it, but he hasn’t bothered to confiscate it.”
“I’ve never seen you drink,” I told him, which was nothing more than the truth. “We’ve only had water together.” And, I thought, eyeing the bottle, I guessed that he didn’t drink very much. There couldn’t have been more than a shot or two missing from that bottle.
“Sometimes the occasion calls for something a little stronger.” He poured a measure of bourbon into each shot glass. Overfilled them, really; the liquid in one almost ran over the brim, and the other was almost as full. He took the less-full shot glass and extended it toward me. “Have a drink, Taryn.”
sedona files 06 - enemy mine Page 6