The Dark Between the Stars Read online

  Zoe’s planetary security teams had clear instructions to let Tom Rom through. As soon as her perimeter scouts sent word that his ship had arrived in Pergamus orbit, Zoe reminded them that she would tolerate no delay. She wanted to see him as soon as possible.

  Of course, her own protective systems caused most of the delay—he would take hours to pass through seventeen successive levels of decontamination and sterilization before she let him see her face-to-face—but she would not loosen those requirements, not even for him. People were too dangerous, diseases were too dangerous, and she had no need for any closer contact.

  Zoe kept her dark hair short, so she could easily don a decon suit and cap in an emergency. She had prominent eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and pale skin. She was careful to breathe through her nose, for added protection from the implanted filters in her nostrils. She ate bland food—processed and cooked, never anything raw.

  Pergamus was a medical-research complex and extensive disease library, the largest one in existence. And it belonged to her alone: privately funded and beholden to no government, university, or research consortium. No one else could be trusted. No one else deserved it. Zoe Alakis had it all.

  Pergamus barely qualified as a planet, as it wasn’t much larger than an asteroid. It held only a tenuous atmosphere, and what little there was proved to be poisonous. The facility was isolated and safe.

  Zoe insisted on layers of precautions—she had her reasons—and any researcher who wanted to work for the obscenely high pay she offered had to agree to certain conditions. They could share nothing about their work—absolutely nothing, with anyone, on pain of death. Those specific words were in their contracts. She owned their breakthroughs, their cures and treatments, all of their records, and the genetic mappings of any viruses and bacteria that couldn’t be cured.

  Zoe resided alone in the facility’s central dome, which she never left. Separate from the main dome, fourteen isolated laboratory domes had been built at varying distances, far enough to protect them if a sterilization blast were required. In those groundside domes, researchers conducted studies on cancers, neurological disorders, brain deterioration. Eight of the domes were devoted to various infectious diseases—at least the ones considered tame enough to be studied on the planet’s surface. For the more dangerous organisms and risky treatment protocols, she had twelve Orbiting Research Spheres, some spinning to provide artificial gravity, others motionless for zero-G research.

  Every one of the laboratories, the groundside domes as well as the orbiting satellites, had thorough fail-safe sterilization protocols, along with a no-exceptions set of rules as to when they were to be used. She would allow no unnecessary risks, no outbreaks. Everything was controlled by her inflexible procedures, programmed in black and white. Zoe never let herself get personally attached to her researchers, nor did she want anyone else to have a moment of personal doubt in a crisis.

  On the monitor screens inside her central dome, she followed Tom Rom’s progress through decontamination. She opened the comm. “How much longer?”

  He turned his face to the image pickup and smiled at her, his eyes bright. “As long as it takes. No shortcuts. I’d never risk exposing you.”

  She monitored him as he passed through airlock after airlock, one decon chamber after another and yet another. Chemical sprays, UV bursts. Each one made him cleaner, safer. He risked so much out there for her.

  Tom Rom had a lean and muscular body that she admired without the least bit of arousal. Though she loved him more than any other human being, he was not her lover. No one had ever been her lover. The thought of physical intimacy disgusted her. The sharing of bodily fluids—not just semen but saliva, perspiration, sloughed-off skin cells, pubic hairs, even exhaled breath—not only repelled her, it sent her into a panic. She abhorred the thought of kissing someone, holding hands, touching in the most intimate of fashions.

  Any such contact could only increase Zoe’s risk of unnecessary exposure to contaminants. There were so many ways that the human body could go wrong. From her father, she knew that all too well.

  Around her office, electron micrographs showed in exquisite and terrifying detail salivary bacteria, dust mites, virally invaded cells, degenerated nerve fibers, stunted and mutated ganglia. To Zoe, these were monsters more horrifying than the Klikiss warrior caste, the hydrogue warglobes, or any other alien species. And these microscopic enemies in their myriad forms invaded from everywhere, unseen. They changed constantly, mutating in order to find new ways to attack human systems.

  It was an odds game, and she intended to stack the deck. She didn’t risk breathing unfiltered air or consuming unsterilized food or water. She viewed this as a war, one she knew she could never win, but she had created a sort of neutral ground here on Pergamus.

  Tom Rom emerged naked from the last chamber, dried himself off, and donned a white jumpsuit, entirely unselfconscious. He stood before her, such a magnificent man, such a loyal knight. No, he was not and would never be her lover—but he would do anything for her, and she would do anything for him. He was her life.

  Zoe had been raised in a scientific observation tower deep in the primeval forests of Vaconda. Her parents, Adam and Evelyn Alakis, had settled in the lichentree jungles, mostly alone on the entire planet and laughing off the obvious “Adam and Eve” jokes.

  They had claimed a large homestead, filed the necessary papers, and built a tall forest watchtower above the pointed lichentrees. They were a brave pioneer family on a previously unclaimed world. The Alakis family set about exploring, cataloguing the Vaconda flora and fauna in hopes of finding some profitable export crop, particularly pharmaceuticals, which could help other people. Adam and Evelyn Alakis had been successful in discovering new bark extracts, potent spores, and slime-mold distillates, which were put to use in Hansa medicine, curing several rare diseases.

  For her own part, Zoe remembered enduring many jungle fevers as a child—nightmares, chills, delirium. But she recovered every time, got better, stronger, developed immunities.

  When Zoe was only eight, her mother’s flyer crashed in the thick lichentree jungles kilometers from the homestead. Responding to the auto-distress call, Adam threw Zoe into their second flyer and the two of them raced out from the forest watchtower to rescue his wife. Reaching the crash site, Adam and Zoe extracted Evelyn from the wreckage, took her back to the homestead, and tried to treat her. Adam had a medical background, and was competent in first aid, but he couldn’t repair his wife’s extensive injuries. Though young, Zoe was already self-sufficient and helpful, and she tried her best to assist . . . but it was not enough. Evelyn died before they could arrange to get her offworld to a sophisticated medical facility. Spores had already begun to grow in her open wounds. . . .

  Zoe was stunned. She had never felt so alone, and yet Adam remained on the planet, insisting that Vaconda was a treasure chest. He was still a pioneer, sure that he and Zoe could survive.

  With its vines, insects, lichentrees, and bitter-smelling winds, this was a primordial world, and the isolation was profound. Adam’s inability to help Evelyn after the accident convinced him to bring in other helpers—biologists, summer students, itinerants, so that he and his daughter wouldn’t be so helpless and cut off. Part-timers came, one or two at a time, to work in the jungle and live in the watchtower. When their temporary contracts were over, they left. Adam was unable to find anyone with an equal level of dedication and determination, to commit to the work and to Adam and Zoe.

  Until Tom Rom came. And he made up for all the others. . . .

  Now, freshly decontaminated, he stood in her presence, still keeping a safe distance. Tom Rom displayed a file explaining what he had brought back from Kuivahr. “It’s a Roamer distillation facility on an Ildiran world. Several species of plankton and kelp there have interesting extracts, some with peculiar properties. Worth analyzing for possible benefits. I brought samples of the different types Del Kellum uses in brewing and distillation. There’s also a
kind of liquor the Ildirans consume. It’s unpalatable to humans but supposedly has tonic effects for Ildirans.”

  “Humans and Ildirans have many biological similarities, but we’re not identical,” Zoe said. “My library has a whole section on Ildiran diseases that have no effect on humans.”

  “It might be worth a follow-up visit to Kuivahr. The Ildiran researcher there is studying genetic abnormalities in mixed-breeds.”

  “Physical deformities?” Zoe asked. Those wouldn’t interest her at all.

  “Deep DNA studies to see why some of the breedings fail.”

  “Yes, it might be valuable data for the library—if you can get the Ildirans to give us their records. But that’s not what I want from you next.” When Zoe stood, she kept her desk between them at first. Tom Rom knew not to get closer than five feet. That was their agreement. She was a very different person now from the girl she had been on Vaconda, and she lived in a very different universe.

  After a brief hesitation, Zoe finally came around, standing as close to him as she dared. “I found something else I want you to look into.”

  One wall of her office chamber was covered with a mosaic of images culled from thousands of news networks. She could spend hours sifting through the selections to find any report that interested her, an outbreak of an unusual sickness, perhaps, or some kind of miracle cure. In many cases, samples of new plagues were easy to obtain, and she employed other scouts and investigators to gather them. Bribes were usually sufficient to obtain library copies of new vaccines or treatments.

  Sometimes, though, Zoe suspected an investigation could be particularly dangerous. For those matters she relied upon Tom Rom.

  She selected the proper mosaic screen, enlarged it, and showed him the report that had caught her interest. A man had been arrested for dissecting the fallen Klikiss bodies left scattered on their abandoned worlds—and also for extracting and devouring some parts of them.

  In a short video clip, the man cried, “They have royal jelly!” but his eyes were wild as he fought against the authorities. “It cured me!”

  “According to records,” Zoe said, “that man had not been suffering from any major disease at all, so no need for any miracle cure.”

  “He’s obviously insane,” Tom Rom said.

  “Yes, he is . . . but even insane people can have good ideas. I find his claims fascinating. Go to a place where there are Klikiss bodies, extract this royal jelly, and bring it here so we can run tests. Don’t call attention to yourself. If the royal jelly turns out to have exceptional properties, we’ll want to harvest it from as many Klikiss bodies as possible before anyone else realizes the potential.”

  He gave a crisp nod. “There are plenty of Klikiss worlds to choose from. I’ll head out immediately.” He turned to go.

  She felt a pang and had to restrain herself from reaching out a hand to him. “So soon? After all those decontamination procedures, stay with me for a day or two.”

  “Time is of the essence, Zoe.” He wasn’t avoiding her, but she knew that Tom Rom didn’t feel alive unless he was on a mission of some kind. For her.

  She stared at him, knowing she would feel connected to him no matter how close or how far he was. “I have never met another person so devoted to me . . . or to anyone. You know you don’t have to do everything I ask, Tom.”

  He regarded her as if she had spoken an incomprehensible statement. “But I want to. You know it’s always been my heart’s desire to protect you, to help you achieve what you need to achieve. That’s why you trust me so much.”

  “And why are you so dedicated?” She had never understood it herself.

  “Why do you need a reason?” He turned to depart the dome. “I’ll bring you the royal jelly.” On his way out, he paused to give her a broad smile. “It’s good to see you.”

  FOURTEEN

  YAZRA’H

  The halfbreed girl had a wild intensity in her eyes that would strike fear into an opponent—which was a good thing, but Yazra’h had other concerns about her as well. Yazra’h brought up her blunted katana just in time, and Muree’n’s staff cracked down, hard, where her shoulder had been an instant before. Then the girl sprang back, laughing.

  From the ringing vibrations through the katana staff, Yazra’h gauged the strength of that blow. Even with her thin and flexible practice armor, the blow would have broken bones had it landed.

  Under the bright glare of the suns, the two circled on the high-level combat field. Instead of soft dirt or solid ground, the practice field was covered with large, mirrored spheres packed together, each one a meter in diameter. Both combatants were barefoot, balancing on the smooth, curved surfaces, and they leaped from one sphere to the next, balancing, rolling, and fighting.

  Tossing her head to shake the hair away from her face, Yazra’h swung her weapon sideways, trying to smack the girl’s head with the flat of the blade—just enough to stun her and teach her a lesson. But Muree’n bobbed, ducked under the katana, and popped up again with her staff to drive the blade aside. The girl was sturdy, muscular, and her half-human features softened the normally bestial appearance of a true warrior kithman.

  Muree’n jabbed with the rounded end of her weapon, trying to punch Yazra’h in the center of the chest, but Yazra’h bent sideways, just enough that the blow only caught her in the ribs.

  “This is only practice, girl,” Yazra’h warned.

  “If practice isn’t real, then it’s worthless.” Muree’n threw herself forward with a wild yell. Instead of using her katana, though, Yazra’h reached out with the flat of her hand, caught Muree’n in the sternum, and hurled her backward. The girl spun and caught her balance on one of the spheres. The multiple suns reflecting from the mirrored surfaces sent up random flashes and a constant glare.

  “I will try hand-to-hand, then.” Muree’n cast her practice stick aside. “I’m good enough. Test me.” She jumped closer, balancing on the adjacent sphere. Yazra’h caught the girl by both wrists and threw her up and sideways. Muree’n yelped, tumbled, but somehow landed on her feet.

  Yazra’h gasped for breath. “You are getting better, girl. I won’t argue with that.” Though Yazra’h was a strong fighter, she didn’t belong to the warrior kith; she was a noble, a daughter of the Mage-Imperator; few warrior kithmen could best her in combat, however.

  For herself, Muree’n seemed to have something to prove. She had grown her hair long like Yazra’h’s, but hers was darker, and she braided it with jewels and heavy metallic weights as decorations that could be disentangled and used as surprise weapons in a desperate situation.

  Muree’n bowed, as if conceding defeat, then she drove forward to ram her head into Yazra’h’s stomach, knocking her off the sphere. Yazra’h fell backward, unable to catch her balance in time, and landed hard against another one of the spheres.

  The halfbreed girl was reckless, Yazra’h knew, but sometimes it paid off. Among Nira’s children from the breeding program, Muree’n was the youngest, and the lowest born, from a guard kithman. Her brother Rod’h was the son of a Designate, Gale’nh the son of an Adar, Tamo’l the daughter of a lens kithman, and Osira’h, the oldest and most powerful of the five halfbreed children, was the daughter of Mage-Imperator Jora’h himself. None of them, though, could outfight Muree’n.

  Yazra’h had taken the girl under her wing as a special student, and now Muree’n had fought her mentor to a standstill. Over the years, Muree’n had suffered many bruises and broken bones, and her skin showed numerous scars, but the girl considered each one a badge of honor.

  Yazra’h picked herself up from the ground, panting. “I know few opponents who fight so wholeheartedly.” She extended a hand.

  Muree’n hesitated, suspicious, before she helped Yazra’h up. “Half measures are for the hesitant.”

  Yazra’h chuckled. “I’ve never known you to hesitate, but you charge into a fray without planning ahead.”

  Muree’n shrugged. “I haven’t once been seriously hurt, so I k
eep fighting.”

  Yazra’h removed a short fighting stick from her belt, adjusted it to the length of her forearm, and motioned for Muree’n to do the same. “Close combat now, so I can look into your eyes and see what you’re thinking.”

  Muree’n adjusted her own fighting stick so that it matched Yazra’h’s. “I’m thinking that I’ll defeat you this time.”

  Yazra’h decided she should pummel some caution into the girl. She was a better fighter in every measureable way, but Muree’n’s energy and enthusiasm often took her aback.

  The staffs hammered together with a loud report, then again. Each end was a whirling blur, but somehow Muree’n anticipated Yazra’h’s every move. Yazra’h pushed harder, tried new tricks.

  Muree’n flailed and attacked. Finally, needing a momentary pause to catch her breath, Yazra’h clouted the girl on the side of the head and stunned her.

  Reeling, Muree’n collapsed to sit heavily on one of the mirrored spheres, shaking her head. Yazra’h stepped aside. “Being impetuous isn’t always the best strategy.”

  The halfbreed girl rubbed what would surely be a large bruise on her skull. “No, but it is unpredictable. It throws my enemies off balance.”

  “You might also find that you’ve thrown yourself off a cliff.”

  Muree’n laughed. “But then I would fly!”

  Yazra’h knew that no matter how many times she defeated the girl, Muree’n would come back for another round. She had no humility, no fear, no caution—and Yazra’h could never train that out of the girl. Catching her breath, Yazra’h realized she would just have to make certain that Muree’n got into situations where those qualities were useful, rather than a detriment.

  As Muree’n climbed back to her feet and held up her fighting staff, ready to pounce, Yazra’h noticed a figure standing nearby on the otherwise empty observing stand: Mage-Imperator Jora’h in his lush robes, with his long braid of office. Yazra’h turned to her father and bowed with respect. Muree’n was ready to strike when her opponent lost focus, until she spotted the Mage-Imperator as well.