Lost Valyr: Project Enterprise 7 Page 9

  Oh, my goodness why didn’t it warm up? She shrugged off her uniform jacket and held it out. When he didn’t take it, she cut in half the distance that separated them. Now she was close enough to smell him, but he didn’t smell—all she could smell were chemicals.

  He said something. The sound of his voice wasn’t unpleasing, but the words grated a bit on the ear. Was it Garradian? It didn’t sound at all like she’d expected.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” She gave what she hoped as the universal shrug for “I don’t understand” and glanced at the bird.

  “Did you—”

  “I do not speak Garradian either.” Sir Rupert fluffed his wings.

  “You speak Standard?” The man’s voice was rough-edged, which was not a surprise since he probably hadn’t used it for a while. It was also sexy, which was a bonus.

  She nodded and gestured with the arm holding the jacket. “I know it’s not much, but you could start experiencing hypothermia if you don’t get warmer.”

  Was that a word in Standard? The similarities—and the differences—of Standard to English was something that still baffled the scientists both here and back at Area 51. How could two galaxies so far apart have language this similar? The official line was “we don’t know.” Rachel had met someone at Area 51 who made her wonder just how much the Garradians had gotten around after bailing on this galaxy.

  “My clothes should be in storage.” It was his turn to gesture. Facing the line of chambers was a wall of what could be lockers with curiously fashioned keypads in the center of each.

  Would his clothes still be usable? In the deep silence, the ticking of the Urclock seemed to echo much louder down the hallway they’d just traversed.

  He turned, not exactly self-conscious about his stark state, his hand hesitating over the keypad. She did not use the moment to study his rear—okay, maybe she did, but she stopped herself pretty soon. Technically the guy was now her patient. When his fingers didn’t move, she wondered if he was having memory issues from being frozen—holy crap. He’d been frozen. And so far, he wasn’t dead. Just naked—stop it, Rachel.

  The reality of the situation was starting to sink in. He’d been frozen. Now he wasn’t. And not a single one of her IQ points could get her past holy crap.

  He closed his eyes, and his fingers pressed the pad in a sequence. The locker opened with a serious hiss, increasing the clinical smells in the room. She felt a need to smell him, to feel his humanity and not just his alienness.

  He reached in and extracted a packet, a sealed packet that looked big for clothes. Whoever had frozen him had planned for this, of course. You didn’t freeze someone and not expect them to emerge on the other side with nothing. She eyed the package uneasily. Was there a weapon in there? She couldn’t think of anything she could say that would get him to let her check it first. Bet Doc could manage it…

  Oh, Doc. She was gonna kill Rachel for sure…

  “There is…a dressing facility…that way,” he said, pointing away from the door they’d come in. There did seem to be an opening at the end of the bank of lockers.

  Rachel felt uneasy about letting him out of her sight, but watching him shimmy—watching him pull on his pants was probably not a good plan. She was already seriously flustered. It was embarrassing with the whole Wrath of Khan potential. He didn’t wait for her to figure something out. She had to admit, though only to herself, he walked with an air of assurance and if he was at all embarrassed, it was the only thing not showing.

  She glanced down at the bird and found him watching her with what was probably amusement in his black eyes. His head was cocked to the side. When her gaze met his, he bent his head, studying a raised claw as if it held the answers to the universal questions.

  At least he didn’t whistle.

  “That was…” Her voice trailed off because she didn’t know what that was. Of course, it was epic and more. She’d come to this galaxy to find cryo-technology, and she’d found it, well, she’d found solid—she winced—evidence that it wasn’t just theory. With her free hand, she rubbed the sudden ache between her brows. It didn’t help.

  “He will be difficult to explain,” the bird agreed.

  She opened her mouth to agree, but her tablet pinged.

  “Now what?”

  Houston, we have a problem.

  But what kind of problem? A scientist-wandering-off problem or the scientist-needs-rescuing kind? Did Doc hope for the rescue scenario? Things had been dull around here. She frowned. Where was the bird—

  Don’t you mean the ambassador?

  Whatever I mean, they both seem to be missing, she pointed out to Hel. She zoomed the feed, slowly scanning the room for signs of trouble or clues to what happened. There was an Expedition issue backpack tucked under the seat of one of the consoles. Looked like the one Dr. Frank had picked up after breakfast. That was the only thing that didn’t fit, which left her literally nothing to get a hold of—hey, what is that thing on the back wall?

  One of her nanites zoomed in on it before she could do it herself. Thanks. It looks like some kind of clock.

  It’s a Urclock.

  It was a strange feeling to run into something she didn’t already know.

  We don’t know what it does either.

  She realized the room had gone quiet. She looked around. Most of the occupants were carefully not looking at her. Except for General Halliwell.

  “Sorry, sir.” She didn’t explain why she hadn’t heard his question. He didn’t ask. He was one of the few people who knew about the nanites—since he was the one who had dumped them into her blood stream to save her life. They were both glad she hadn’t died, but he still had trust issues with the nanites, which meant he had trust issues with her.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Doctor?”

  She didn’t want to, but if she didn’t tell him about Dr. Frank, it might be a bridge too far. She tried to think of a tactful way of putting it. At least he couldn’t get into her face when he was on the Doolittle, and she wasn’t.

  “Sir, I have reason to believe that,” she had what she hoped was a light bulb moment, “the, um, ambassador and Dr. Frank are on Central Outpost.”

  Halliwell was good at the poker face as she was, possibly better. “On the Central Outpost.” Halliwell’s voice chilled enough to cause frostbite. She nodded. “Who gave them permission to leave this outpost?”

  She bit back the impulse to say, “It wasn’t me!” She didn’t like to repeat herself in the same meeting. “That’s not clear, sir. Last I knew they were doing their research in the medical complex.”

  Which is “it wasn’t me” without saying it.

  Hel was enjoying this way too much.

  I am usually the one in trouble.

  “You’re certain they are there?”

  “No, sir.” She went to a computer and tapped in a command, making it viewable both here and on the Doolittle. “This is an older video from Central Outpost.”

  The dropped jaw made the good doctor a little more human, Doc decided. Even Sir Rupert managed to look startled.

  “Is that a bird?” one of the geeks asked.

  “My brother’s parrot has taken a…fancy to Dr. Frank,” Doc explained, carefully not looking at the General. She hoped the others in the room wouldn’t connect the General’s ambassador question with her brother’s bird.

  “Why aren’t you certain they are there?” Halliwell asked, with remarkable—for him—restraint.

  “Here’s a live feed from the outpost, sir.” Doc keyed in the command. It was such a pain to use her fingers, exhausting almost.

  The silence was not a happy one. His eyes asked, and her tiny negative head shake answered the question he couldn’t ask out loud. Had they come back here? She hadn’t even needed to check for a bird heat signature. All expedition members were tagged and tracked. The question was, could she track Frank’s tag from another outpost? She’d used the Doolittle to check. The Doolittle wa
sn’t orbiting Central Outpost.

  Can we piggyback on the signal from Central Outpost?

  We will try.

  Try. She sighed. She needed to show them Star Wars, so they’d know not to try, but to do.

  Once out of sight, he stopped, swaying from the effort of trying to walk normally, trying to appear unfazed by finding himself naked with a strange woman and her avian companion. The package he’d extracted from his personal storage was large and adversely affected his balance. He leaned against the cold stone wall to steady himself, to steady his thoughts. This, it was wrong, but how and why continued to elude him. A light popped out a small kernel of information inside his head.

  Valyr. My name is Valyr. It was something, a positive sign that his belief his memories would return in time was valid.

  Encouraged, he straightened and entered one of the cubicles. And here more memory returned. He’d been here before. Of course, he had. But…he turned slowly, his shoulders brushing against stone as newer memories of divesting himself of his clothing returned. These were not the memories he sought. These brought a different…unease.

  He’d not hurried the last time, his reluctant hands slowly folding each item. Reluctance was a headwind as he added each item to the storage packet. Trying not to think too hard. Knowing he should get it over with. Get it done before courage failed him.

  The decision to do it had not been easy to make. And having made it, he’d tried to focus on tasks, not the choices or his doubts. But here, his doubts had resurfaced, a weight on limbs and thoughts. In the end, he’d been dogged, doing the steps because he didn’t know what else to do. The others had already left. If he stayed, he’d be alone.

  How ironic he’d ended up alone, or mostly alone. The curious pair out by the chambers didn’t inspire confidence.

  He set the package on the single bench and placed his hand on the seal. It flashed, reading his print and released the seal. He lifted the top, knowing what he’d see.

  Not just his apparel, but his past. It seemed a small container to hold all of his life before. He’d felt that then, too, he remembered now. He’d left behind everything, but what he’d need for this moment when it came. If it came. As his clothes had slipped off, replaced by the chill air, it was a foretaste of what was to come.

  Cold sleep.

  Even now it surprised him he’d done it. He stepped into the chamber and let them turn it on.

  Not the choice he’d expected when he joined the Garradian research project. He turned his hand, looking at the scar. Now he remembered why he’d kept it. To remind him of where he’d come from, to keep grounded by his past as he made the leap into the unknown—but this had been an eager leap, one of hope and anticipation. So many hopes and dreams of changing their galaxy. Together they’d craft a bolder, brighter future for all. Instead, there had been this leap into…nothing.

  There’d been no guarantee that any of them would survive the initial cryo-process. A high risk of never waking up. Not knowing what he’d waken to.

  Well, one promise had been kept. He’d awakened to the completely unknown. He closed his eyes, knowing something greater than his fears had pulled him into cold sleep.

  Something had pulled him back out. He did not know why or what.

  Not the woman out there. She was as surprised as he was.

  He considered her with a curiosity untainted by fear. She was not—the enemy. He frowned. If she was, she hid it well, he conceded. There was intelligence in her face and compassion though the compassion could be feigned. She was small, slight by his people’s standards, but well looking. He had found humor in the look on her face when the strange sound started. He frowned. Music? It was possible, he supposed. There had been a consistent rhythm to it. My Baby. And an earthy and sensual quality. Not unlike her mouth. It had been a long time since he’d interacted with a female, he realized ruefully. Interesting that those instincts survived and had surfaced before his memories. She reminded him of what he’d lacked before the cold sleep. He wondered if her hair, her skin was as soft as it looked. Soft. Something else that had been missing for a long time. He had not joined his life with one of his own. The turmoil and tumult of the coup had taken that off the table as his fellow scientists began to scatter. And none had interested him enough to follow—why he’d chosen cold sleep, he could not at this moment recall, but he did know it had been a choice. And that the reason mattered then and, it mattered now.

  But what? What had called him from sleep?

  He turned to the storage packet and began to lift out the items. They did not smell of him, instead emitting a faint chemical smell. Would his skin ever be rid of it? It filled his nostrils, coming between him and what he needed to recall. He wanted to smell like himself, feel like himself again. Whatever, whoever that was.

  Here, in this room where this journey had begun, he unfolded his clothing and donned items that felt as strange as his still chilled body. And as he put them on, he recalled each moment of taking them off. It had felt as if he prepared for burial. The robe he’d slid on at the end did little more than cover him. It gave no warmth and received none from him. When he’d closed the container and sealed it, he’d felt dead inside and out. It was the only way he could have climbed into the chamber.

  Now? He felt…alone, felt frozen on one side of a divide, with the woman on the other. Could she help him? Could he trust her? What about her avian? He frowned, rubbed his forehead. He needed to follow his…instincts if he still had them. His other need, to connect with someone once more, made him eager to engage in a dialog with her. Discover what had happened since he went to sleep.

  One step at a time, he told himself. As he bent to get his shoes, he found the reason for the large container. Light exploded inside his head.

  He remembered this. It wasn’t everything he needed, but it was a beginning.

  8

  All of Xaddek’s eyes were locked on the location of the Najer. He needed to be there, or at least close enough to impact events. And they needed to be there yesterday. Which wasn’t technically possible unless…some of his eyes strayed to his system display.

  How much was he willing to risk? He liked being a long distance from trouble, liked letting others take risks, and then moving in for the reward. He paid for it—when he had to, and when he’d used someone he wanted to use again. The types he worked with, well, sometimes they disappeared, like Trajan Bester. Though he preferred them to deliver before they disappeared.

  The item had come to him from a source he trusted as much as he trusted anyone. He tapped several of his upper legs against the desktop, all his eyes turned back toward the Najer.

  In Garrad space.

  Where the artifacts may have originated.

  And whatever else might be sitting there.

  Unprotected.

  The greatest risk was in getting too close to the Najer before it had been subdued. But his Captain was canny and careful. He planned to live as long as he could, too.

  Finally, he tapped two controls.

  “Captain, Eaphohn? We need to…confer.” He closed the connection and opened a video to his special storage section. The recorder was pointed at the artifacts in their containers. He took a moment to zoom in on them. Only one male human so far, the one that was now on life support. The ice obscured their features, but the containers registered them as human, female, and still viable, though nearing the point where that would change. According to legends, there were seven needed to form the tangram. He had one “empty” container and two modules. He was close to securing two more. And no sign or sight of the one he’d sent Trajan Bester after.

  There were duplicates, but how many? Would the replacement for the lost artifact be found in Garrad territory? Rumors, so many rumors, but it was his only chance to find a replacement. Or information on a replacement? That was also a possibility.

  But to be in the hunt, he needed to be there and not here.

  He moved the video view to a container in the co
rner. The human who had sold it to him claimed it was a “comet drive” taken from a damaged Garrad vessel. It was supposed to travel faster and more efficiently. He’d never been tempted enough to risk trying it.

  Until now.

  The messages came with a certain regularity—at least his processors had found a pattern. They appeared random to a physical brain, or a system designed by an organic mind.

  CabeX considered the newest message though there was not much for him to work with. There never was.

  The complicated arrangement of bits and bytes always resolved into a simple request:

  Help me.

  It was a curious request, wrapped in a package he still did not trust, though he’d not found any malicious programming in it or around it. Just a complicated dance to the…plea? Was it a plea or a trap?

  If he’d been what everyone thought, the message wouldn’t have troubled him more than a few milliseconds. Did the sender know? Suspect? It was this, as much as the search for the research they hoped would free them completely, that had sent him out of that galaxy and into this one.

  He had not expected the message to follow him. Or reappear on its peculiar schedule.

  That it had was troubling. Either someone was using sub-space with a creative brilliance he could admire—and covet. Or the messages had been planted in their systems in such a way that he had not—yet—found their source. This was an area of concern. It was not…wise to find the coding around the message so…fascinating. He’d kept them a secret so far. There’d been something personal in their perfection. But now they’d followed where they should not be able to.

  If the ship was the unwitting source, it could endanger all of them. That changed his calculation. So why did he hesitate? There was a logic to bringing in more minds than his. Cooler minds. The skills of his crew were more varied than their outward appearances, though there was variation in the basic mold, based on their programmed purpose. Their individuality had been introduced by themselves, far from the sight of their creators. Together they formed a cohesive team—a team he’d failed to inform or use for this…mystery.