Catalyst

  Now she sat at her desk and tapped on the day shift illumination, set to one-quarter strength. The reddish light turned to a warm yellow as she activated her desk screen and checked the time converter. It was still early in the morning on Qwonix, but Lhyn would be up and getting ready to catch her shuttle. She was a little surprised that Lhyn hadn’t returned her call last night, but then again, she was in a hotel with a few thousand anthropologists. They had probably gone out to dinner and stayed up all night talking about esoteric cultural mores.

  Before she could touch the quantum com control, a message light blinked at her. Smiling, she pulled it up and listened to the welcome sound of Lhyn’s voice.

  Half a minute later, the smile dropped away. Staying? For a few days?

  She stared at the playback line on her screen and slowly shook her head. That made no sense.

  When she called the hotel, there was indeed no video connection. A harassed-sounding clerk informed her that it would probably take half a day to restore the service and he was very sorry for the inconvenience. At her request, he connected her to Lhyn’s room.

  Her call was picked up immediately, but it was not Lhyn on the other end. Or at least not the real Lhyn.

  “This is Dr. Rivers. I’m in writer’s seclusion for the next four days, because I can’t seem to get this project finished any other way. I won’t be listening to messages, so please don’t leave one. If it’s urgent, call the front desk and they’ll notify me. Otherwise, try me again in four days.”

  Ekatya disconnected, her stomach lurching. She called the hotel again and got the same clerk.

  “This is an emergency,” she said. “I need to speak with Dr. Rivers.”

  “If you’ll tell me your message, I’ll pass it to her when she checks.” His tone intimated that he did not believe her for a second.

  “I don’t need you to pass her a message, I need you to walk up to her room and transfer this call personally.”

  “I can’t do that. Our guests pay for their privacy. I have strict instructions from Dr. Rivers—”

  “I don’t care what instructions you think you have, this is a genuine emergency! Dr. Rivers may be in trouble. How do you think your hotel will look if—”

  “Dr. Rivers was here not half an hour ago, checking for messages. I’m looking at the notification on my system right now. Stop trying to bother her.” He cut the call.

  She let out a wordless shout of rage and slammed her fist on her desk. Then she dropped her head into her hands, her mind racing. Think, she told herself. Think and plan.

  Something was very wrong. Lhyn’s message would seem perfectly reasonable to anyone who didn’t know how hard their separation was for both of them—or that Lhyn might not even have gone there for the keynote speech had Ekatya not encouraged her. It had been manufactured somehow.

  But it sounded exactly like her. Ekatya had nothing to prove otherwise except a gut feeling. And that would get her nowhere.

  A gut feeling…

  She sat up straight. “Oh, shek,” she whispered. The right side. Her chest had been hurting on the right side.

  She had Commander Kenji’s quarters on the intraship com before remembering just in time that she was still in her robe. When he answered, she had switched the call to voice only.

  “Commander, I’m sorry for the early hour. But I need your assistance.”

  Commander Kenji asked no questions and met Ekatya in his office ten minutes after her call.

  “Before we start,” she said as she sat in his guest chair, “I have to tell you that this isn’t ship’s business. It’s personal.”

  He nodded slowly, his black braids gleaming in the too-bright light of his office. Outside, the corridors were still in night shift illumination. “Then it must be something serious.”

  Her relief at his acceptance nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.” She held up a data wand. “I received a message from Dr. Rivers that sounds just like her. It’s her voice, it’s her phrasing, but it’s not her. And I can’t explain how I know that, but I know. Is there any way that you can prove this message is fake?”

  “Most likely.” He took the wand and plugged it into his deskpad. “If it’s fake, there will be minute inconsistencies in the vocal pattern. Those can be leveled out, but they can’t be erased entirely. There may also be background sounds that can’t be fully separated from the voice. Voice patch technology has come a long way, but some things are still impossible.” He tapped at his deskpad, staring at his screen, then looked at her. “This will take some time, Captain. Why don’t you have breakfast, and I’ll call you when I have something?”

  She almost smiled at the gentle dismissal. He didn’t want her hovering.

  “That’s a good idea, I suppose.” Not that she could eat a bite with her stomach clenched the way it was. But there was always coffee.

  It took Kenji more than an hour to call her back. She was surprised she hadn’t worn a hole in her living area carpet.

  “It’s a fake,” he said, looking solemnly at her through the desk display. “I can give you all the technical explanations if you want a real report, but the short version is, this was a very expensive job done by someone who knows their work. If I didn’t have access to the best military systems in the Protectorate, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inconsistencies. At least not in less than a day.”

  Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in her throat. “Thank you, Commander. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “It was no trouble. But Captain…that’s the sort of message a person produces when they want someone to disappear.”

  “I know.” She had no idea how she was speaking coherently.

  “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  “If I think of anything, I’ll tell you. I have another call to make. Thank you again.”

  She activated the quantum com with trembling fingers. There was only one person who could help, and he had set the whole thing up. She just didn’t understand why.

  Director Sholokhov came on the screen looking exactly the same as always, despite her calling an hour before most people in Gov Dome were waking up. “Captain Serrado, what an unexpected—”

  “Why?” she blurted. “Why would you do this? You said we were even. You agreed that I did everything you asked.”

  He frowned. “You’re making no sense. What are you talking about?”

  “Why would you take—” She stopped as the thought hit.

  Sholokhov loved to play games with her, yes. But they were all power games. Games where he withheld information from her, never games where he pretended not to have information himself. That was antithetical to the image he liked to present.

  “Captain, if you’re going to call at such an uncivilized hour, would you do me the courtesy of speaking in whole sentences?”

  “Lhyn has been kidnapped,” she said. “I thought it was you, but it’s not, is it?”

  He stared at her. “That’s impossible. I’ve had an—” He snapped his mouth shut.

  “I knew you had someone watching her. I mean, I suspected. Are they still? Did they see anything?”

  “Slow down, Captain. I’ve never seen you like this. It certainly does prove that I was right about which lever to pull with you. Now, tell me what you know.”

  She told him about the fake message, explained that the whole hotel had been taken off the visual quantum com band just to back it up, and reiterated Lhyn’s planned schedule and how unlikely it was that she would deviate from it. Then she prepared herself to make an offer that would shackle her to him for the rest of her life.

  “This is extremely disturbing,” he said irritably. “There’s a new player on the board, and I only hear about it from you? I’ll get back to you.” The screen went blank, leaving her staring at
it in abbreviated shock.

  It was a good thing they were in transit between space stations, because Ekatya was useless all morning. Had she been required to actually perform her job, it would not have gone well. She went through the motions on the bridge, retired to her office the first chance she had, and proceeded to drive herself insane imagining all of the possible ways Lhyn could be hurting right now.

  Sholokhov finally called after lunch.

  “She was taken immediately after returning from dinner,” he said without preamble. “Right out from under my operative’s nose, which I am not pleased about. We’ve traced her as far as the city shuttle station, where she was transferred to a ship in orbit. That ship filed a false flight plan. I’m having it tracked now, but it’s painstaking work. The moment the ship left orbit, this became a far more difficult task.”

  She waited for him to inform her of the cost. Though he had not given her the chance to offer earlier, he would expect it. Sholokhov did nothing for free.

  “The word on the wires is that Kane Muir picked up a new job,” he said. “This might be it. Captain, I’ve wanted Muir for a very long time. He’s had his fingers in some very nasty jobs and interfered with several projects of mine. I believe you and I might be able to help each other. If you hear anything, think of anything, you call me immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said faintly. She could hardly fathom her good fortune. Sholokhov had neither friends nor allies, but he did engage in temporary alliances when interests aligned. Right now, his interests aligned with hers.

  In a stronger tone, she asked, “Who is Kane Muir?”

  “He’s a ghost. He’s slipped through my net three times already, and he’s cost me—well, never mind that. Muir is a freelance fixer, the best in the business. But this is the closest I’ve ever been to him, thanks to your warning. You did well, Captain.”

  He ended the call. She was still staring at the screen, the word fixer repeating in her head. She knew what that meant.

  Her hand drifted up to the right side of her chest.

  CHAPTER 41:

  Obedience

  Once Lhyn recovered from the agony of being dropped on the bed, she looked for a way to bind her chest and stabilize the injury. There was nothing in the room she could use, other than tearing a strip off the sheet. With her right arm pressed tightly against her side, such a vigorous physical motion was impossible.

  But she had a towel.

  Working slowly and with only one hand, she laid the towel on the bed and folded it twice lengthwise. Then she sat with her back to it, threaded one end under her right arm, and used her left hand to pull the other around her body. Gathering both ends in front of her sternum, she twisted them together until the towel was as tight as she could make it. Though not ideal, it did support her chest and provided some relief—for as long as she could hold the ends in her hand.

  She had no idea how much time passed after that, but it felt like hours. Hours in which all she could focus on was breathing, because if she took anything more than a shallow breath, it set off a fresh flare of pain. Until now, she had never appreciated what a miracle a full, deep breath really was. She didn’t think she would ever take that for granted again.

  When the bedroom door finally opened, she jumped involuntarily and stifled her groan.

  The blond man came in, carrying a bed tray.

  She could smell the food from where she sat, propped up against the head of the bed, and her stomach growled in response.

  He smiled at her. “Very clever, using the towel. I’m impressed. Though it’s no more than I expected from you. Come in, Osambi.”

  As he set the tray on the floor, Osambi stepped in, a medkit dangling from one hand and a stack of clothes held in the other.

  Lhyn pressed herself farther against the headboard at the sight of him.

  “Thank you.” The blond man put the clothing and kit on the foot of the bed. “Now, we need to get you undressed. You don’t want to sleep in those clothes.”

  “No.” The very idea of Osambi touching her made her cringe.

  “I’m afraid no isn’t one of your options. Don’t fight, Dr. Rivers. It will only hurt you more.”

  “No, no…” She tried to scramble away, toward the other side of the bed, but Osambi wrapped his massive hand around the back of her neck and squeezed. His fingers and thumb bit in, immobilizing her.

  He held her in place as he yanked away the towel and stripped off her suit jacket with no concern for the pain he was causing. When her right arm was pulled back, she barely managed to stifle a scream.

  Her shirt and bra went next. If she had thought the idea of him undressing her was nauseating, the reality of it was ten times worse.

  The blond man came around the side of the bed and examined her naked torso. His gaze lingered on her breasts, and when he looked up, he smiled. “It just occurred to me that I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Kane Muir, but you can call me Kane.”

  She was positive it had not just occurred to him. He had made a deliberate point of telling her his name while she was held immobile and half-naked in front of him.

  “Keep her still, Osambi.” He shook out a pajama top and, with Osambi’s one-handed assistance, put her arms through the sleeves and buttoned it up. They kept her hands from getting anywhere near Kane, a precaution she could only wish were necessary.

  Kane opened the medkit and took out an injector. “I did warn you about fighting. Perhaps next time, we won’t have to do this with you in a neck hold. I’m told it’s quite unpleasant.”

  Her head jerked in an involuntary movement away from the threatening injector, but the resulting pain from Osambi’s grip stopped her. She could swear that she had felt the bones in her neck grinding together.

  When the injector’s cold tip touched her skin, she closed her eyes and waited for the next terrible thing to happen.

  Her pain faded to a tolerable level. He had given her an analgesic?

  She opened her eyes to find him replacing the injector in the medkit.

  “The towel was a good idea,” he said, “but not sustainable. And you shouldn’t restrict your breathing, because that could cause fluid buildup in the lungs.” He clicked his tongue. “Nasty. It leads to complications, and I don’t want that when I’ve taken such care to give you a nice, clean fracture. You have no displacement, and as long as you don’t move around, you won’t hurt too badly.”

  He took off her boots and began undoing her suit pants. Osambi’s fingers dug into her neck even more tightly in a silent warning. She wondered how large these bruises would be.

  “Dr. Rivers, I am going to ask Osambi to let you go. Then I want you to stand up. Will you obey and not fight, or do I put you back in the chair?”

  She wanted so badly to resist, but she would do almost anything to avoid that chair.

  “I won’t fight,” she whispered.

  “Good. But that wasn’t a complete answer. I also asked if you would obey. Will you?”

  She knew exactly what he was doing. It didn’t matter. “Yes.”

  “Ah, excellent. Osambi, let her go.”

  The pressure on her neck had lasted so long that its release hurt nearly as much as the original grip, even with the analgesic. She swallowed hard and used her left hand to push herself closer to the edge of the bed. Then she stood up.

  Kane stripped her suit pants and underwear at the same time. She looked down at him, kneeling at her feet, and felt a wave of hot shame. Here she was, lifting one foot and then the other like a child being dressed by a parent, when Ekatya would have kicked Kane in the face and taken out Osambi somehow, or at least gone down trying.

  As Kane pulled up the pajama pants and settled them around her hips, she closed her eyes again and sent out a silent apology.

  Kane ordered her back on the bed, up against the headboard,
and then set the bed tray across her lap.

  “Eat everything. Neither I nor Osambi will be leaving this room until you do.”

  She obeyed. At least in this, she was doing something good for herself as well.

  A few minutes after they took out the tray and left her in the closed room, she felt her head swimming and knew they had drugged the food.

  CHAPTER 42:

  Third lesson

  When she woke, the suit rack was gone, along with all of her clothes. She was now barefoot and dependent on Kane for clothing. It was so obvious, the path he was leading her down, but all of her intellectual understanding did her no good. In a way, it made it even worse.

  Getting out of the bed was far harder than it had been last time. The analgesic had worn off, her stomach muscles still hurt from Osambi’s fist, and now she couldn’t use her right arm to help push herself up unless she wanted to suffer the pull on her broken rib. Standing erect felt like a victory. But the effort made her short of breath, and her victory nearly turned to a panic attack when she could not get enough air in her lungs. Desperately she took rapid, shallow breaths, but they weren’t enough. She threw her head back, steeled herself, and breathed deeply several times. It hurt, but it was worth it. She no longer felt as if she were suffocating.

  Her mouth tasted like wet fur from the drugs. Rubbing her teeth and tongue with the dentifrice felt like the most pleasant thing she had experienced in days. As she rinsed, she realized with dark amusement that it was the most pleasant thing she had experienced in days.

  She skipped the shower since toweling off was now an impossibility. It wasn’t just the broken rib that hurt, but also all of the muscles that had been brutalized in the process of breaking it. Her chest felt as if she had been hit by a shuttle.

  After relieving herself, she took a sponge bath with the washcloth that had appeared next to a new, smaller towel, clearly for just this purpose. Then she walked out and sat on the foot of the bed.

  The last time, she had gone out there of her own volition. She would not do that again. If the only control she had over this was to make them come and get her, then she would take it.