Free In Enemy Hands by K.S. Augustin Page B

transparency the moment he tried to capture one—that at least he knew he was moved around a lot. They didn’t want him making friends, forming attachments, except to people like Hen. Why? If he couldn’t remember more than a handful of recent days at a time, why would they worry about friendships?
    Why couldn’t he remember?
    Driven to desperation, Srin crawled back to the bathroom. Turning his head away to heighten his sense of touch, he ran his fingers up and down each visible panel, using the sensitive tips to find any unevenness, any clue that he had been through this cycle of thought and action before.
    He was working his way towards the far wall when he finally found it. His hand stilled for a moment then, in a rush, he was diving under the basin, peering up at the small section of underpanel that had something scratched on it. But—dammit to hell!—he couldn’t see anything. The overhead illumination, housed well above head height, couldn’t brighten the area near the floor and a nervous search of his cabin confirmed that there were no portable sources of light.
    He stalked back to the bathroom and lay on the floor. If he had scratched that message, he must have known it was a place that would remain in mysterious darkness. So, assuming it was him who had made those scratches, it would be coded against unfriendly discovery, yet in a way that was easy to decipher or, better yet, appear innocent. Slowly, with his eyes closed again, Srin let the tip of his index finger trace the angular scratches. It was text. He mouthed out the letters as he completed each one.
    R-E-V-A-I-I.
    That was all. Just six letters. Srin traced the letters again, then skimmed the rest of the panel. There was nothing else.
    With a groan, he got to his feet. Surely it hadn’t been that difficult before to get up? He walked back to his bed, stretching his back as he did so.
    Revaii.
    A name? A place? And was it standard Ingel or some other language?
    “Revaii.” He said it out loud, hoping the sound of it in his ears would spark inspiration. “ Re vaii. Re vaii . Rev…Re…Rrr… Shit!” His expletive was soft but heartfelt. “Reva….”
    He stopped and his head jerked up. “Reva. Reva II.”
    Reva II.
    That was one name he knew. It was where he had been planning to take Yalona for a holiday. He remembered a funding proposal he had before the Science Directorate. Last month. Or fifteen years ago. He was so confident of the outcome and was determined to take Yalona away on a much-deserved holiday once it had been approved. To Reva II.
    It wasn’t the flashiest of tourist destinations but, then, neither was it the most expensive. But with its lesser crowds, beautiful weather and greater affordability, it was the perfect choice for a young researcher on the up-and-up and his beautiful soon-to-be-bonded partner.
    But why would he have scratched a holiday destination into the panel under the bathroom sink? Was that where Yalona was? Without any other concrete evidence, Srin couldn’t accept that as fact. If he knew Yalona was there, he would have added some other identifying information. Even a scribbled “Y” would have been enough. But there was nothing. No, “Reva II” must mean something else.
    He thought about the attractions of the planet. There were mountains to hike up and slide down, beaches to walk and dive from. And fantastic surfing waves formed by the influence of Reva’s other claim to fame, its terraformed moon. It was the only such satellite in Republic space.
    Terraformed moon. Moon.
    Dr. Moon Thadin.
    His eyes narrowed.
    He hadn’t thought about the good doctor for the past hour, but that was more through accident than design. She was one of the few people he could picture clearly in his mind’s eye. They were almost of the same height, which he liked. Her features exuded warmth. Her skin was soft and soothing, her eyes dark and embracing, and her hair—scraped back in the no-nonsense bun she seemed to