Lost Valyr: Project Enterprise 7 Page 8

  We are trying. She is surprisingly good.

  Well, wasn’t that interesting? Doc had, of course, read the parts of Dr. Frank’s file that she wasn’t supposed to. But it had not indicated this level of expertise. She’d have written her off as boring if Sir Rupert hadn’t asked for her specifically. What did the parrot know that she didn’t? And how had they got off this planet without anyone knowing it?

  There is no record of either of them leaving the outpost, Fester confirmed. But they did access a transport module in the medical center. A secondary module.

  There’s a secondary module there? Even as she asked, she looked at Hel. Sir Rupert.

  She felt the nanites get into the live feed for Central Outpost. It was the same view as the old feed, except this live feed showed that the room was empty.

  Carey liked the way the squadron’s fighter craft looked as they assumed their places in the formation. These were good pilots, though he still missed Sara Donovan in the formation. He didn’t let his thoughts get side-tracked remembering all that had led to her not being in the squadron or in this galaxy. Even if they weren’t even close to intercept range, he never let his thoughts wander past the mission when he was in the cockpit of his Dauntless.

  The transport bird carrying the rifle squad of Marines was in the protective pocket of the formation, with Captain Gibson, their Naval Flight Officer, at the helm. A good man, but Marines?

  When he asked about the addition of Marines to their Delta Tango Flight, the Old Man had told him their bogey had already sent crew dirt side to access an outlying outpost. The geeks were still trying to figure out what they’d been looking for and if they’d gotten it. The footage, though grainy and inclined to dance around, from the intrusion was unsettling, even to someone who’d been hanging around this galaxy since they found it. Well, other than his foray into the past. Technically he’d returned before he left, though, so that didn’t count.

  But robots, or what appeared to be robots. Doc had been quick to caution them against making assumptions based solely on appearance—no matter how freaking scary the appearances were. And they were scary. He wasn’t sorry he wasn’t the one who’d have to go nose-to-nose with them if the intercept didn’t go well and they made it down to a planet. According to the Doc, the Marine Sergeant, one Carolina City, had also been briefed about the robots.

  He’d debated using the footage in his briefing to his pilots, but then he’d been ordered to keep it mum for now. He didn’t like it—but he understood why. Would it change their tactics knowing the ship had robots on board?

  No.

  Might it mess with their heads?

  That was possible. His pilots had faced a lot since they’d arrived in this galaxy, this system. Some had lost their lives. They were all operating in a theater that no one at home even knew existed. That was a lot to wrap the head around without wondering if the robots changed the board and how.

  Alien ships were, well, alien. Until they bumped heads or the desired option, opened up communications, there was no way to know what the battle board would look like.

  The trick now was not to let it mess with his head.

  “Bogey accelerating,” the voice of ops came over his comm.

  So they’d seen them. He considered his options, then flicked the comm.

  “Cloak. I repeat, activate cloaks.” The bogey would see them go off screen, but at least they wouldn’t know how they were reacting to their change in speed.

  Despite the earlier alteration in course, they were now making a beeline for that planet containing Central Outpost. The question was why? Though he did find it encouraging they were making a run for it. Looked like they didn’t want to bump heads.

  And then they fired something. Carey tensed until he realized it was tracking toward the planet, not them.

  “Ops, what is that?”

  “We’re scanning—could be a probe.”

  Carey frowned. “Did they fire something at that other outpost? Is there a way to tell now?”

  “We’re asking that question here, too, Alpha Flight.”

  Okay, that was Doc’s voice. Carey felt his shoulders relax some. If anyone could figure this bogey out, it was Doc.

  If Kraye didn’t know CabeX couldn’t have odd moods, he’d have thought he was having one. Maybe it was a side effect of becoming sentient.

  “Have they reacted to our increase in speed?” CabeX asked.

  It was polite of him to ask, to give Kraye the sense he was useful on the bridge. Maybe he just liked the company or felt he should like having company. No question that when one of the other ‘bots was doing a shift, it was dead quiet. Anywhere the ‘bots collected was quiet since they could communicate over the network. He could have asked for an implant, but he didn’t want to be in his head that much. Sure as hell didn’t want a bunch of ‘bots in there. He almost smiled. They probably couldn’t handle the input of a human brain, the randomness. As far as he could tell, the only thing that slowed CabeX down was trying to talk to his human First. Kraye could tell that sometimes CabeX didn’t know how to dumb down his questions enough.

  But he was First. So CabeX must find him useful in some way, he reminded himself.

  He studied the readings, feeling more like he was taking a test than providing useful input.

  “Not yet—they’ve cloaked. Bet they are getting ready to kick up their speed.” He grimaced. That there was cloaking tech was not in the data on this galaxy.

  “Can we access the scanning technology through the outpost we breached?” CabeX’s voice was a low murmur as if the question was self-directed.

  “They would need to keep track of their own ships,” Kraye agreed. He didn’t start tapping things. CabeX would get RaptorZ on it if he wasn’t in the mood to do it himself. And wasn’t that a funny thought to have about a robot, even a sentient one?

  The ice retreated, but the persistent thump continued to build. Drowning, sinking in water, in noise. Which was worse? He did not know.

  And then, as if summoned by sound, warmth touched cold skin, pushing through the bone to marrow. A sense of water draining down, but still, he fought it, holding air in his straining lungs until they were on fire.

  With a gasp, he gave in. Better to die than burn from the inside out.

  The rush of air out reversed, returning air to lungs, easing the ache. Not fresh, but air. Without the water, warmth retreated. Not as cold, but not warm. He missed warm.

  A loud hiss and more cool air rushed in. The pulsing sound was louder, too.

  Lids lifted by what he saw did not bring clarity. A blur of white, gray and black. Shadow and low light. Words in the sound. He blinked and shook his head.

  For a few beats of time, he thought his head would fall off. The room whirled with his thoughts. Perhaps this was a dream?

  He lifted his hand before his eyes. Used the other to twist a finger until it hurt.

  Not a dream then. The blur sharpened into gray walls. Gray floor. Empty room. Room.

  He was somewhere.

  A stirring deep in his mind. He knew this place. But…something was missing. Or someone? Yes, someone. People. Why was he alone?

  The fog inside his head was dotted with small lights. Somehow he knew the lights held answers. But when he strained toward them, they danced back, their light dimming. He tried to relax and let the lights come to him, but only the sound reached him. His eye twitched with each hammer blow.

  His head moved, but the edge of the small…space he was in, it blocked his view. He shifted and realized then that something held him loosely in place. He shifted harder, heard a sucking sound as his back pulled clear.

  He lifted his hand again, flexing fingers, watching how they moved at his command. It was his hand, attached to his arm. But the connection didn’t feel complete. He traced the lines in the palm. There was a small scar down from the thumb. He knew it, but at the same time wondered why it was there. They could fix scars, could they not. They?

  He mo
ved his legs now. The joints felt stiff. Moving them sent pain shooting across his nerve ends, but the pain was positive. He leaned forward, freeing his lower back and buttocks. He gripped the edge. What was it? It was a chamber—now he could see the viscous substance that had supported him. More not knowing-knowing. More chill air reaching more of his body.

  All of him.

  He’d gone into this place without raiment, so of course, he would emerge in the same state. He did not yet recall why the requirement to put aside his raiment, but he had certainty he would remember. He felt it even as knowing stayed just out of reach. It was a process—

  The word triggered a response in one of the fog lights in his mind. He looked around and saw the bank of personal storage spaces. In there he would find coverings for his body. He pulled his leg free and stepped down, the floor solid and cold against the bare sole of his foot. His knee began to buckle. He deployed his other leg and managed to stay upright. He held on to the door frame until knees steadied.

  Hunger. Thirst. He needed to eat and drink. Another light opened like a packet of instructions, lining up behind the one about raiment. None of the memories told him how to turn off the sound. It seemed to come at him from all directions.

  He frowned. There was a pattern in the sound and behind it…like a metronome tapping or…ticking. Ticking. One of the lights flickered inside his mind, but it did not open.

  Too soon…

  You are not ready.

  Whose voice said that? It was not his own. And other words clouded the issue. The words in the sounds. In Standard. Something about girls wanting to have fun? No wonder his thoughts would not order.

  He frowned and let go of the chamber side so that he could rub his chilled arms. That is when he noticed the line of chambers marching off into the shadows. He looked left and found the same. Chambers? He turned around and looked up, feeling a different type of chill, one that started in his core and moved out to join the other cold. He touched the viscous stuff that had held him…suspended.

  Asleep.

  Memory released the distant sound of voices, a reassuring murmur. Where were they now? Why am I alone in my waking? It mattered though he could not recall who should be here with him. Or why he’d gone to sleep in this…cryo-chamber. He knew the word but did not perfectly understand what it meant, other than sleep.

  Cold sleep.

  Long sleep.

  That was the reason for his lack of raiment. The faces, the voices explaining the process were still lost in the fog, their voices hard to hear. The long sleep explained why they were gone. Long gone…

  How long?

  Why had his chamber released only him?

  The sound pulsed, drowning out the answer his brain tried to supply. Pieces of thought floated randomly in his memory, trying to form into something whole, something he could recognize. He deliberately slowed his breathing. Instead of reaching for what was out of his grasp, he turned back to the room.

  What did he know?

  He was not dead.

  He did not dream.

  His name was…

  He moved on from that for now. He felt strangely certain more—all would return in time. Time. Strange to feel so disconnected from time, so lost…

  The din moderated somewhat, and now he heard the echo of footsteps hitting stone in synch with the thumping beat. They had not left him to wake completely alone. Only now, with relief surging through him, did he realize how tense he’d held himself. His shoulders hunched, his hands curled into fists. For a few seconds he wished he’d taken time to clothe himself, but more than coverings he desired to know he was not alone…that he was not lost…

  The hatch slid back and in the opening he saw…

  An avian?

  7

  Rachel was still dance-walking, and she might have been singing along, too. A couple of dance spins put her behind Sir Rupert when the hatch for their first stop slid back. The bird halted, his wings fluttering and carrying him back a couple of hops. Before she could ask, he trotted inside. Curious, Rachel danced up to the opening and jerked to a stop, letting the song go on without her.

  Her eyes saw the man, but her brain had trouble processing the data her eyes were sending.

  That was a man—a naked man—standing there staring at the bird.

  She was a doctor, so of course, she’d seen men stark as the day they were born, which one wouldn’t know by the color that rushed up to heat her face.

  Her gaze flicked down and jerked back up. He needed some clothes. And warmer air. Sooner rather than later. As near as she could tell, from seeing all of him, he looked as human as anyone in the expedition. Which didn’t make it comfortable to be here, despite the medical degree. She swallowed dryly. Her eyes felt dry, too. She tried blinking, but that made her gaze tilt down…

  She sent her eyeballs a stern admonition to focus on higher things. Okay, higher things might not be possible, but where the heck had he come from? How had she ended up on a different planet alone with a naked guy?

  It was so wrong that her playlist began “If I Can Dream…”

  She fumbled it off and found the silence didn’t help either. Left too much time for thinking about naked and wishing it wasn’t quite so cold. For him, of course, not her.

  I am alone with a naked guy.

  Maybe it was the chill—and her red shirt—that made this feel less romance novel moment, more Wrath of Khan. Since his face was the only place she could look without blushing, she focused on it. He was handsome, but the craggy kind, not the smooth, planning-to-dominate-the-galaxy, gorgeous.

  She realized her jaw had dropped again. She snapped it shut, helped by the memory of what she looked when it sagged.

  Thank you, outpost, for another lesson in humility.

  Her jaw back in place, she continued to study him. Not because he was cute, even though he was, but because she needed to figure out if he was Khan dangerous. That was not an easy question to answer. She would have gone with “he looked clean cut,” but it was hard to look messy with no clothes. He did have some beard shadow, and the slash of his dark brows could have used some plucking. There was this cute row of worry wrinkles making furrows on his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed in a way that could be worried or unfriendly. His dark hair was trim, his jawline strong and resolute. Her overall impression was that he was a man of character. But it was a hope, a thesis, not a fact.

  Did she hope that because she wanted to think it, or because he looked like a good guy? Not a simple answer there either. Character. People didn’t talk about it much these days, but if it still existed, and it looked to her like he had it. And a focused sense of purpose, despite signs of worry and confusion in his brown eyes. Chocolate brown—irrelevant she scolded. She gave herself a mental shake, then met his gaze again, determined to see past their yummy chocolate-ness.

  In addition to resolute, there was wary and confused jostling for position in his gaze, which she understood. It was kind of sweet that he might be as nervous as she was. His stance enhanced that sense of purpose without making her feel threatened, which was interesting. It veered into heroic, despite the lack of clothes. His chin was up, his shoulders back—Rachel checked her own posture—and his hands were clenched at his sides. Bare feet planted. He could have been a statue with that pose. Even the crispness of his hair with its vaguely military cut contributed to his overall staunchness. And then there was his mouth. She realized she was tracing the line of her own mouth with her free hand and let it drop while more color inched up into her face. The upside of embarrassed, the heat felt nice in the freezing room.

  She’d been hanging out with lots of military types both before and during this deployment, so that might be affecting her judgment, but she could see him in a uniform. Man, she wished he was wearing a uniform. So much.

  A doctor should not be embarrassed, but a medical doctor wasn’t her primary function here, and this wasn’t happening in an exam room. Besides, most of the patients hadn’t need
ed to strip all the way down for her. She could admit she’d seen some nice chests while using her stethoscope. Almost before she realized it, her gaze dipped down to study his. He measured up nicely to any chest she’d seen ever.

  As someone who’d spent most of her life blending into the background, it was disconcerting. There was no blending here. It was just her and him. He was studying her as intently as she was—not looking at his private parts.

  She cleared her throat. Her fingers twitched, and since one was also holding her tablet, this had the unfortunate side effect of starting her music again. The man winced as the Traveling Wilburys sent “My Baby” out to fill the awkward silence. Rachel fumbled for what felt like a long time before she got the music shut off again. This time she exited the program and then clutched it to her chest and tried to think of something to say in a silence that had gone so far past uncomfortable, it was in another galaxy.

  A sliver of amused joined puzzled in eyes surrounded by lashes she’d have given up a few IQ points to have. She could respect him for being amused when he was not at his best either—

  She blinked and brought her eyes back in line. On their journey back up, her eyes collided with his chin again. She hoped she wouldn’t have to argue with that chin.

  She clutched the beeping tablet tighter—wait. Beeping? She lifted it up and tried to translate the words without pulling up her dictionary—a cryo-chamber required attention? She looked up, and now she saw the open chamber right behind her naked guy. Had he come out of that? Oh crap, had something she’d done triggered it? If so, that was a large oops.

  She was already facing a smack down for leaving the outpost without permission and now she had a guy to explain—one wearing clothes when it came time for that. Though—she frowned, surely they hadn’t been here long enough to defrost a human? Okay, alien tech, but still…