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  “I have some news for you,” Brent said when Sirgi had finished his meal. He’d wanted him to enjoy it thoroughly before distracting him. “Inya has tracked down the ship that your rescue pod was originally registered to.”

  “Oh?” Sirgi lifted an eyebrow. Oddly, he didn’t seem as enthusiastic as Brent had expected. “What did you learn about it?”

  “Well…it was a police vessel, sort of similar to the Border Patrol ships we use now, though the various planets didn’t work together quite as smoothly in those days. The outer reaches of the galaxy were a bit wilder and more lawless back then.”

  “So I was some kind of police officer?” Sirgi appeared pleased with that revelation, at least.

  “So why did this police vessel leave me out in the middle of space? Was Inya able to find that out, too?”

  “Not exactly, but we have a rough idea. Records indicate the ship eventually got destroyed in a magnetic storm. It’s possible you bailed out in an effort to escape the destruction. Inya’s requested the ship’s logs from the archives, assuming they survived.”

  A cloud passed over Sirgi’s face. “That wasn’t very brave of me, was it? Fleeing my own ship and leaving it to blow and burn? Let’s just hope I wasn’t the captain. ”

  “You were saving your own life. No one could fault you for that,” Brent answered, a bit startled at Sirgi’s attitude. He certainly had no desire to risk himself in the line of duty. Not even his father would expect that of him, surely. But then cargo ships were different. They were a means to an end, not a way of life like the military vessels—presumably including police patrols.

  “I suppose,” Sirgi said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Then again, you’re a bit young to be a captain, aren’t you? You look at matters of life and death somewhat differently than someone like me.”

  Brent felt his cheeks grow hot. “My entire crew is between twenty-six and thirty-five Earth years on this ship. Cargo companies want people in their prime. We have a lot of experience, though…not just with all types of dangerous cargo, but with things like pirates.”

  “Pirates? Yes…I know what pirates are.” Sirgi relaxed, appearing to reminisce. That wasn’t possible, though…or was it? Had Sirgi spontaneously recovered a flash of memory? Or was he, as Inya had suggested, just pretending to have amnesia?

  “No doubt the police had some run-ins with them,” Brent said, choosing his words carefully. “The Border Patrol still does, to this day.”

  “Pirates will always be around. It’s basic humanoid nature. Take what you can get without paying for it, and blast anyone who gets in your way. I don’t need specific memories to realize that, any more than I can tell by looking at the two of us that I’m a good ten Earth years older than you.”

  His blue eyes flashed. Brent wondered if he were silently warning him not to pursue that particular line of inquiry any further. He began to feel uneasy, and he hated it. In spite of everything, his interest in—hell, his attraction to—Sirgi hadn’t dimmed at all. The more time they spent together, the stronger the pull between them became.

  “So tell me about this ship.” Sirgi tipped his head back and let his gaze travel all around the perimeter of the mess hall. Brent wondered if he was looking for something in particular—some structural weakness, perhaps?—or if he was just admiring the ship design of the future. No doubt the police vessel had been far more primitive in every respect.

  “Not much to tell,” Brent said, again thinking carefully before he spoke. “We transport things. That’s about it.”

  “What sort of things? Equipment?”

  “Sure.”

  “Weapons?”

  “If they’re legal and paid for. Or passengers. Or anything, really.”

  “What are you transporting now, aside from me?”

  Brent narrowed his eyes. “I can’t talk about that. We may be a private company, but I have my orders…just as you probably did, back in the day.”

  Sirgi startled him when he suddenly jumped up and started pacing the length and then the width of the mess hall. Brent wondered if he had made the right choice in calling off the security detail while Sirgi ate. He’d assumed he could handle any situation that arose. The smoldering expression on Sirgi’s face, however, worried him. If he planned to do violence, Brent had little hope of stopping him.

  “This room is so small,” he grumbled. “My quarters are so small! Don’t think I’m not grateful, cap—er, Brent—but after being cooped up in that damn pod for so long, I feel like I’m being crushed to death!”

  “You can’t possibly remember what it was like to be in the pod,” Brent pointed out. “Inya said your brain shut down all but the most essential functions. That’s why you’re having so much trouble now.”

  “I know that. I’m probably imagining things, but I’m telling you, the sensation is real. I feel like I need to stretch…run…you know. ”

  “Actually, I do have an idea. We’re a small ship, true, but what you’re experiencing is normal, especially for crew members not used to long voyages. Our engineers came up with a solution I think you’ll approve of.” He stood. “Let’s go.”

  Sirgi said little as Brent led him down the passageway to the ship’s makeshift gym and locker area, where they changed into matching bodysuits and flexible workout slippers. Brent forced himself not to stare as Sirgi briefly stripped down to the tight silver briefs Brent had supplied him with earlier. The bodysuit wasn’t much help, fitting him like a second skin and showing every detail of his body from the raised muscles of his thighs to the twin bumps of the electrodes still attached to his chest. Inya had speculated that they might eject themselves naturally, once the skin around them had become naturally hydrated and began to heal. They gave Sirgi a slightly robotic and undeniably dangerous look that Brent did not find unpleasant in the least.

  “The suits are designed to absorb and evaporate the sweat instantly,” Brent explained, smoothing his down over his chest. Had Sirgi stolen a glance at him, too, while they changed? “Come on, let’s go into the gym.”

  “Not a very big space.” Sirgi surveyed the tall, narrow chamber with ill-disguised disappointment. “No equipment, either. How do you exercise in here?”

  “We don’t have a lot of room, but we make up for that with some interesting technology.” Brent motioned Sirgi into the center of the room. Clearly skeptical, Sirgi did as he asked. When Brent flipped a switch, both were abruptly borne upward on an invisible current. He heard Sirgi gasp in surprise.

  “What the—?” Sirgi demanded, flapping his arms to steady himself as he coasted some ten meters off the floor and kept rising.

  “It’s like swimming,” Brent explained, “but without water. The forcefield simulates current. It’s good strength training—or you can just drift and enjoy it. There are different settings.”

  “Amazing,” Sirgi said. He took a few tentative strokes, wheeling around as if he were drifting in the ocean. His arms were strong and he could propel himself better than anyone Brent had ever seen. He remembered what Inya had said about his implanted muscle. “What setting is this?”

  “The lowest one,” Brent said.

  “Turn it up,” Sirgi insisted.

  Brent floated over to the control panel and cranked up the resistance a single notch. Sirgi scowled in concentration, keeping his position in the middle of the booth.

  “More,” he demanded, and Brent complied. Soon Brent found himself clinging to the bar attached to the control panel. Otherwise, he feared being blown into the center like a dried leaf back on earth, though Sirgi seemed to have no difficulty at all keeping upright in one spot. Police training must have been rigorous in Sirgi’s day, and no doubt the implants were doing their part, too. He wasn’t the sort of police official many smugglers or pirates would have enjoyed facing down, Brent suspected.

  “Let go,” Sirgi said, indicating the safety bar. Brent tensed up, not at all sure what would happen once he released himself int
o the gusts. He honestly didn’t think he could keep up with Sirgi’s powerful arm-strokes.

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it,” Sirgi said, grinning.

  Hesitantly, Brent hit the timer beside the control panel and let his fingers uncurl from the safety bar. Instantly he was swept into Sirgi’s chest. He started to apologize, then realized that Sirgi appeared to enjoy holding him in place by wrapping both legs around him. His arms, still extended, kept them suspended in the exact center of the gravity booth. Brent slid his own arms around Sirgi’s neck to anchor himself.

  “You were right,” Sirgi said, grinning in his usual lopsided way. “This is…liberating. It’s exactly what I wanted, even if I wasn’t sure how to imagine it.”

  “Told you,” Brent said, pleased.

  “There’s something else I’ve been itching to do since I got my life back,” Sirgi said. He angled his head and tightened his legs around Brent’s waist. Then he leaned forward and kissed Brent…hard.

  Brent closed his eyes, reveling in the rough but invigorating pressure of Sirgi’s lips and the light scrape of his teeth as they rode the air. The rest of his body went rigid with desire, too, throbbing against the rocky planes of muscle covering Sirgi’s husky frame.

  All too soon, the safety timer ran out and they drifted slowly back down.

  “What happened?” Sirgi asked, looking around in bewilderment as their slippered feet touched the floor. “That was over too soon.”

  Brent grinned. “You mean the workout or…?”

  “Both.”

  “The timer is for safety—in case someone gets caught up in the whirlwind and can’t get back to the switch. They just have to tread air for a few minutes and then they can float back down. I could have reset it, but I sort of…lost track of time. These things are pretty safe—more so than real oceans.”

  Sirgi frowned and stepped away. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You know, I have this…impression of swimming in an ocean. Red water. Thick.”

  Brent nodded. “You visited one of the pleasure planets, maybe. They probably gave even cops shore leave once in a while.”

  “A pleasure planet…that sounds nice.”

  “They are. Trust me.”

  Sirgi frowned and shook his head. “It was there. A wispy sort of image. I thought I remembered something. Now it’s gone.”

  “Sorry. But don’t give up.” Cautiously, Brent placed a hand on Sirgi’s forearm. The thick muscle seemed to pulse a little under his fingertips.

  “Not everything’s gone, though.” Reaching up, Sirgi guided Brent’s hand off his arm and then between his legs. Desire surged there, hot and hard beneath the bodysuit. For one wild moment, Brent feared it might scald his palm. “I was afraid I’d forgotten how to do that, too. Glad I haven’t.”

  “I think it’s instinct,” Brent said. “You can never really forget how…even if it would be more convenient to at times.”

  “I had a feeling you preferred men. That’s instinct, too, I guess.”

  Brent’s brows rose in surprise. In Sirgi’s time, sexuality must have been a lot less fluid than it was in his world. Gender wasn’t nearly so important now as it had been in other centuries. People could express what they wanted to with any consenting partner or partners, with no particular configuration of male or female considered superior to another. But he saw no need to get into that. Besides, it was true that he had always chosen men for himself. He’d just never thought about it in quite the way Sirgi did.

  Brent suspected that their conversation would soon progress to a much more interesting level, but the intercom shrilled. Whatever Sirgi had been about to say next remained unsaid.

  “Captain needed in the medcen,” Inya’s disembodied voice drifted through the empty chamber, echoing against the high ceiling. The eery sound gave Brent a bad feeling, though he couldn’t quite say why.

  He moved to the wall com and hit the “respond” button. “I’m in the gym, Inya. What’s going on?

  “Tell you as soon as you can get here.”

  “All right. Give me fifteen minutes.” He released the button. “Sorry, Sirgi. I’ll drop you back at your quarters on the way. You can shower there.”

  “Too bad,” Sirgi said with a theatrical sigh. “The shower’s the part I was looking forward to the most.” His hand drifted playfully back to the bulge between his thighs.

  “Yeah. Well, you know…the demands of being in charge, and all.”

  “Of course. I understand completely. Another time, perhaps.”

  “Sure.” Gulping, Brent headed back into the passageway and motioned for Sirgi to follow.

  ****

  “You look like you’ve been having fun.” Inya surveyed Brent’s bodysuit and the sheen of sweat on his face—not all of which had been generated by the exercise, though he would never admit that to her.

  “I’ve been working out. With Sirgi. That guy is as strong as an Ugruffian ox, you know. Must be those muscle implants you told me about.”

  “I’m sure,” Inya said, frowning at what he knew must be his dreamy, slightly dazed expression. He had to work harder at containing his emotions. This was getting out of control...though he certainly enjoyed the feeling.

  “So what’s up? Did you get those ship’s logs already? That was quick.”

  “I did get them.” She led him over to the computer screen on her desk. “I’m sorry, Brent, but you won’t like this.”

  In a flash, Brent’s good mood dissipated and was replaced with a clammy sensation that squeezed his guts like a fist. “Go on.”

  “The logs show the captain of the police vessel that was destroyed in the ion storm was named Sirgi Meliq. According to what the authorities were able to piece together, he died along with the rest of his crew. He made the last log entry just a few minutes before the storm tore the ship to pieces. There wouldn’t have been time for him to seal himself in the pod.”

  Brent felt the blood drain from his cheeks. The cold fist tightened inside his stomach. “Well, we know that’s impossible. There must be a mistake in the records.”

  “That’s a possibility, but it’s a pretty slim one, don’t you think? Isn’t it more probable that the man you know as Sirgi is really someone else—someone who stole his identity?”

  “Why would anyone do that? How?”

  Inya sighed with ill-disguised impatience. “You know the answer as well as I do. Because the man we scooped up and unsealed was a criminal. Look.” She tapped the screen, which displayed a text-transcription of the ship’s final four log entries. “Just before the storm, Meliq reports hunting down a dangerous fugitive...a pirate. They took him captive, and the log records him as being in custody when the ship was destroyed. My guess is that in the confusion of the storm, he escaped from his cell and then their ship…by stealing one of the pods and jettisoning himself into space. No one else managed to get off the ship. By the time the crew realized that they needed to leave, their systems had gone down. Meliq and his three crewmembers perished. It seems likely that only their prisoner survived. And I think he still does survive.”

  Stricken, Brent looked from the screen to Inya. Her obvious concern for him made him angrier. “But that’s…that’s…I mean, it’s just conjecture, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But my scenario fits the facts as we know them. There’s always room for error, of course. I won’t deny that.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Brent. I’ve known you long enough to sense that you’ve developed a connection to this…so-called Sirgi. But he might not be who he claims to be.”

  “I won’t believe it. I mean…not until I’ve had a chance to study this for myself.” He pointed at the screen.

  “By all means.” Inya pulled out her desk chair and steered him into it. “I’ve called up all the relevant documents and organized them for you.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Brent said in a glum voice.

  Chapter 4

  Brent
stepped into Sirgi’s quarters after nodding at Zillah, again stationed as a security guard outside his hatch. Sirgi stood beside his narrow bunk, wearing only a rather skimpy towel wrapped around his waist. His skin glowed and droplets of water clung to his short, spiky hair, suggesting that he had just stepped out of the shower. Brent, who was still in his bodysuit, tried to suppress the twinge of desire that snaked through his body at the sight of so much of Sirgi’s bare flesh. He knew the suspicions Inya’s discoveries had aroused in him should have been enough to quell those urges, at least for now. His hormones, however, didn’t seem to care what crimes, if any, Sirgi might have committed almost two hundred years before.

  Sirgi greeted him with that crooked smile of his, making things even more difficult. He tilted his head in the general direction of his bunk. “I knew you’d be back. Come on in.”

  “I…um…I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure, we can talk…for starters, at least. I hope we can get to the good stuff after that. Don’t you think it’s about time you called off the guard out there?” He jerked a thumb toward the hatch as it slid closed, hiding Zillah from view. “We could put the privacy to good use.”

  Brent cleared his throat. He had no experience with confrontations like this. He wasn’t border patrol, he wasn’t a military officer, and he had no desire to be either one. All he wanted to do was run his cargo ship in peace and enjoy his life. Keeping the galaxy safe had never been of any interest to him, if he was willing to face the truth. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t turn his back on what he knew was the right thing to do.

  “I have a responsibility, Sirgi,” he started in a voice that quickly became choked with self-consciousness. “…to this ship and its crew, not to mention the planet that’s waiting to receive our cargo. I…I can’t send the guard away just yet.”

  “Oh.” His face crumpling in disappointment, Sirgi slumped to his bunk. His dejection made Brent hurt inside, too. The sight of the skimpy towel shifting caused him discomfort of a different kind. “I thought we’d begun to trust each other, captain.”