The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [62]
The circles under her eyes grew almost as he watched. It would take days, of course, for the flesh to melt off her bones, but she was visibly weak. Twice, she had stumbled away to vomit up what little food and water she’d been able to keep down. Once, she had paid for it by feeling the sting of the lash. Andropov had rushed to her defense, shielding her body with his own and taking the brunt of the punishment. The rider didn’t seem to care which of the organics was beaten, as long as someone was. He had laughed and spurred his horse into a canter, riding off to another point to supervise the slaves.
“Thank you,” Allyson whispered, gazing up at him with hero worship in her eyes. “You’re already so badly hurt, and yet—”
“A few more lashes won’t make any difference to me,” he lied, forcing himself not to wince as he moved [184] away from her and got to his feet. He extended his arms to help her up, she stumbled, and fell against him.
For a moment, he permitted himself to hold her, to feel her heart beating against his chest, to feel how fragile her body truly was. He’d come from a large family and had always wanted kids, but somehow it had never happened. He’d imagined teaching his son how to play sports and have fun, taking his daughter out to a fancy dinner on her sixteenth birthday and treating her like a gentleman should treat a lady. Making her feel special.
“When this is over,” he said, “I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
She blushed. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but ...”
“Not a date,” he pressed. “I’m far too ancient for you. But—” How to even find the words? It would be hard under the best of circumstances, but here, in the scorching sun, smelling his own stench, weak and wounded—how could he find words to explain what he was feeling toward her?
“I never had a daughter,” he said bluntly, “and I don’t think I could be prouder of her than I am of you right now. Let me do this for you.”
Her eyes searched his as they made their slow way back through the shifting sands to haul more stone, make more mortar. Finally, she nodded.
“I understand,” she said. “All right. But you should be warned—I’m going to eat like a horse when we get back!”
Warmed by the acceptance and trust in her words, Andropov laughed aloud for the first time since the hellish ordeal began.
Chapter 16
WATSON’S SIXTH SENSE—the one that had saved his life and those of his companions more than once in the years he had served in Starfleet—was on red alert. He hadn’t trusted Janeway and crew from the moment they beamed aboard. He’d let them prowl around alone long enough. It was time to act.
Two of his crew—Hughes and Whitman—were with him in the mess hall now. Crais had not been asked to attend. Watson knew Kim was also on the bridge, and didn’t want to alert the former Ops officer that they were on to him. Same with Taylor, who was with Data and Kaz in sickbay. They’d take those three later, at their convenience.
But where were Janssen, Colson, and Roske? Janssen had not contacted Watson since he had left to check out Cargo Bay Two. Roske and Colson of the [186] second team had been ordered to report for duty, and should have been here by this point.
Watson made a decision. “Something’s happened,” he stated flatly, with the certainty of someone who knew he was right. “I’m going to contact Montgomery, regardless of what he said earlier.” He moved to the computer and suited action to word as he activated it.
“You two go to the armory. I want the phaser rifles in our hands, not theirs. Admiral Kenneth Montgomery,” he said to the computer. He frowned. His computer stubbornly refused to show anything but the Starfleet insignia.
To his crew, he continued, “There’s only a handful of them, scattered throughout the ship, so they shouldn