The Lost Era: Well of Souls: Star Trek by Ilsa J. Bick Read Free Book Online Page A

that serious talk two people who supposedly love each other usually have when they’re trying to decide if they can stand each other’s company for the long haul.”
    “I can stand your company, Ani.” Halak’s lips twitched, and he tried not to smile. (God, no, then he’d get a lecture about how he wasn’t taking her seriously.) “You’re just a pain in the neck.”
    She didn’t smile. “Yes, I am your particular little pain, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. So you want to explain why you’ve been looking to ditch me ever since I showed up at Starbase 5?”
    “Because I wasn’t expecting you. And how did you find me, anyway? I didn’t leave word where I was going.”
    “Woman’s intuition.”
    Halak barked a laugh that sounded as if he’d cracked a dry branch over his knee. “Farius Prime is the first place a woman thinks about? Come on, Ani, that’s no answer, and you know it. How did you find out?”
    Batra licked her lips, and for an instant, it crossed Halak’s mind that she might be getting ready to lie.
    “Well, I just did ,” she said, tersely. She mopped her forehead with the back of one hand. “Look, it’s too hot to stand here, arguing. What difference does it make, anyway, and especially now? I’m here, I’m hot, I’m thirsty, and my mouth has so much sand my teeth are getting a nice buff and shine. I think it’s high time we get someplace cool, and I buy you a drink. Don’t you agree?”
    “No.” His ankle was killing him. “I don’t want a drink. I just want to ...”
    “Good,” said Batra, linking her arm through his. She pulled him toward the nearest café. “I’m parched.”
     
    They made Halak check his phaser at the door. Batra’s eyebrows headed for her hairline when she saw the weapon.
    “Personal carry. No regulation against that.” Halak gave a half-shrug. “You never know.”
    She didn’t reply. They ordered then drank in silence, and Halak had almost finished with his second Saurian brandy when Batra said, “Penny for your thoughts.”
    Halak shook his head. “They’re not worth that much.”
    “Samir, are we going to talk about it?”
    Halak lifted his glass to his lips. “No.”
    “Are you like this all the time, or do you practice a lot when you’re alone?”
    “Actually, I save it all up for you,” said Halak, and then drained the rest of his drink. He craned his neck, peering around Batra for the waitress.
    “Probably because I’m the only one aboard patient enough to put up with you.”
    “No, you’re the only one aboard lucky enough.” Halak’s eyes swept the café. The interior was very dark and close, smelling of mint tea, sugary roasted almonds, and the sour tang of Trakian ale. Halak spotted one of the cafe’s waitresses: an Atrean, dressed in a tight weave of hip-hugging silver mesh that began below her be jeweled navel and ended at a spot barely brazing the underside of her buttocks; silver strappy sandals that threaded up to mid-calf; a mane of silver hair that coiled in strategic swaths over her breasts; and very little else. Halak whistled, and when she looked his way, he pointed to his glass and held up a finger.
    “You really need another?” asked Batra.
    “You’re not going to let us leave until we talk. I’m apt to get dry.”
    “Uh-huh,” said Batra. She sipped at a tall glass of iced Molov mint tea. “Well, we could talk about your leaving Enterprise without me. Or we could talk about why we’re on a planet with no redeeming virtues.”
    Halak snorted, a humorless exhalation through his nose. “I don’t like either of those topics.”
    “Well, I ...” Batra began but stopped when the Atrean expertly tacked a napkin to the table with a fresh glass of brandy and retrieved Halak’s empty. The woman lingered a moment longer, bending so that her hair had to adjust by curling and rethreading itself, like a mat of snakes, to keep her breasts covered up. Even so, Halak got a good glimpse before the Atrean