by J. J. Green
“That’s right,” said the server. “Baked this morning. It’s still warm.”
Cariad’s stomach gave another lurch. “Can I buy a loaf?”
The server said, “I don’t know. Have you been fitted with a chip?”
“Ah. No, I haven’t.” As a Woken, Cariad wasn’t yet officially part of the settlement’s economy. “The credit system has started up?”
“Yes,” the server replied. “So unless you have a chip or one of the old cash vouchers… ”
“Okay.” Cariad looked longingly at the bread. “Where did the flour come from?”
“From the ship. The wheat crop won’t be harvested for a while yet.”
“Of course. It smells wonderful.” Cariad’s mouth was watering. Then she felt guilty for thinking about food when Ethan was probably dead.
“Oh for stars’ sake,” said the man with the child. “Give her a loaf. I’ll pay.”
The server’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” the man replied. “Why not? I have to spend my creds on something. There’s not much else to buy yet.”
“Thanks,” said Cariad, “but I couldn’t. I guess it must be really expensive.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said the man. “I remember you, I think. You’re that Woken who helped Ethan during the First Night Attack. Take the bread as thanks.”
The server was slipping a loaf into a plaspaper bag. “I wouldn’t turn it down if I were you. That pile is all we’ll have until we receive another flour delivery from the ship.” He handed Cariad the filled bag.
She held it to her chest, appreciating the softness and warmth. “Thank you.”
As Cariad walked to the shuttle field, she broke off pieces of the loaf and ate them. The bread tasted delicious. Even aboard the ship bread was a rare luxury. Wheat wasn’t grown on a large scale because it wasn’t as nutritious or productive as other crops raised in the limited space of the agricultural area.
Eating the bread warmed Cariad’s heart too. The introduction of the credit economy was an indication of progress in the colony, and the Gen man’s offer had been kind despite his gruffness.
Cariad was nearly at the shuttle field when her interface chirped. She’d turned it off while she’d gone on her trip to find Ethan, and upon her return she’d seen several messages from people who had been looking for her, including Kes. Guiltily, she’d recalled agreeing to meet up with him the day that she’d left the settlement. Her worry over what had happened to Ethan meant she’d entirely forgotten about the arrangement. She would have to comm him later to apologize. In the meantime, a live comm request had arrived. Cariad sighed. She expected it would be from Osias. She guessed she would have to answer for her actions sooner or later. But when she checked it was Addleson aboard the Mistral who wanted to speak to her.
“Cariad,” Addleson said. “Where did you get to? Everyone’s been looking for you all over.”
“It’s a long story. Too long to explain in a comm.”
“Hmm, well, I was wondering if you were going to speak to Garwin again. We’ll keep him here as long as you like, of course, but… ”
“I understand. I’ll be over to speak to him again soon.”
“Okay. Pop in and say hi when you come over, won’t you? I’d love to hear a long story. To be honest, captaining a ship that isn’t going anywhere gets a little tedious after a while.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Oh, and Aubriot’s been asking for you. Hence the big search.”
“Aubriot? What does he want?”
“No idea. He’s been loafing around here annoying everyone.”
“Right. I’ll speak to him when I have time.”
After saying goodbye to Addleson, Cariad was about to put her interface away when it chirped again. She hurriedly checked to see who it was this time, hoping it wasn’t anyone important. The shuttle to the Nova Fortuna was just about to leave.
It was the Leader.
“Verney told me what you did, Cariad,” said Osias. “Officially, I don’t approve. Unofficially, I think it was extraordinarily brave of you. Either way, Ethan’s death is a great loss.”
“I don’t know that he’s gone for sure,” Cariad said. “I didn’t find a body. I didn’t see any sign of him.”
Osias’ expression was solemn. “I know. Verney explained. I had to turn down his request to send out a search party.”
Cariad pitied the man. He was very young to have to make these life-and-death decisions. “It’s okay. I understand why.”
“The colony’s survival is my priority. I can’t risk others’ lives when there’s so little hope.”
“I know, and Ethan wouldn’t want you to. He told me so when he set out. He knew the risks.” Though what she was saying was true, Cariad felt almost treacherous. A part of her just didn’t want to let go of the hope that Ethan was still alive. In a way she was glad that it was Osias who was making the call, and not her.
Osias asked, “What are your plans now?”
“I just have to check in with my techs, then I’m back on the Natural Movement investigation. I’m going to focus on a subsection of the current suspects.”
***
When she arrived on the Nova Fortuna, Cariad went directly to the Fertilization Labs. Predictably, her two techs were hard at work. They had seeded the remaining gestation bags with the newly developing embryos, they told her.
“And they all took again?” Cariad asked.
“One hundred percent success rate,” Cassie replied.
“I knew I could rely on you two.”
The techs beamed in response to her praise.
“From what I can tell,” said Cariad, “the cat got out of the bag that I wasn’t around.”
Florian flushed a little. “Yes. That was my fault.”
Cassie chuckled. “Every time someone came in looking for you, he would tell them a different story. After the fourth or fifth visitor, the stories became more and more outlandish.” She put a hand over her mouth and giggled. “He told one person—was it Anahi?—that you’d gone back to Earth aboard the Mistral to buy cheese, and he told someone else that you were mining for gold in… where was it?”
“Timbuktu,” Florian said, shame-faced. “I couldn’t resist. Sorry.”
Cariad rolled her eyes. “Remind me not to ask you to do anything other than create new life in the future.”
“To be fair,” Florian replied, “that’s probably about all I can be trusted with.”
“It’s okay,” Cariad said. “It doesn’t matter. People were bound to figure out I wasn’t around soon enough, and I’m back now. But I came to tell you that you’re going to be working without me quite a bit in the future. I’m going to be busy with other things. But I know you’ll do a great job. If you ever need me, I’ll only be a comm away. Are you okay with that?”
A subtle glance passed between the two techs. Cariad had the impression they would be very happy to be working together without a third wheel hanging around.
“We’re fine,” Cassie said. “The tricky part is over. It’s plain coasting from now on… or something.”
“Plain sailing,” Florian said.
“Great,” Cariad said and took her leave of the young couple.
The next person she had to visit wasn’t far away. The Fertilization Labs were sited next to the soil biology area, which was why Florian had commandeered two of their rooms to convert into additional gestation facilities.
Cariad pressed the door security for the soil labs. Rene buzzed her in. She was working alone.
“So you’re finally back from your clandestine assignment?” Rene said. “Where were you? I guessed that Florian’s story about you deciding to become the first person to sail single-handedly to the next continent wasn’t entirely true.”
When Cariad told Rene where she’d been, the woman’s face fell. “Oh, Cariad, I’m so sorry. Poor Ethan.”
“Yes.” Cariad took a breath. “Rene, the reason
I’m here is because I wanted to talk to you some more about that injury you had that you can’t explain.”
“Okay, but maybe you should take a little time off after your trip. I don’t mean to be rude but you look awful. Like you haven’t slept for a week.”
Her comment caused Cariad to realize how bone-tired she was. Yet she was determined to press on with rooting out any remaining Natural Movement members as quickly as she could.
“To be honest, I don’t feel too good,” Cariad replied. “Thanks for your concern. Anyway, I was thinking about your injury. If it wasn’t due to an accident—which seems likely, or you would remember it—then the obvious answer is that someone did it to you.”
“Do you think so? But I would remember that too, wouldn’t I?”
“Not necessarily. Not if you were unconscious.”
“But then the pain would wake me up.”
“Maybe the person who did it sedated you.”
Rene frowned. “I don’t know. That seems even less likely than hurting myself then forgetting about it. I mean, this person would have to have done it when I was alone, and I’m only ever alone when I’m in my cabin.”
“Yes,” Cariad said. “I thought about that too. They would have had to break through the ship’s security to get inside.”
“Exactly. And who would be able to do that? The techs back on Earth designed the ship’s system. It’s impenetrable.”
“I know.” Implications were beginning to pile up in Cariad’s head.
“Cariad,” said Rene, “I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”
“I’m not sure where this is leading me yet either,” said Cariad, but she was almost certain about one thing: at least one terrorist remained alive.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Time was running out for Ethan. His foot was swelling up and the pain from it disturbed his sleep. The wound was red and puffy and a white, gloopy liquid oozed from it. It didn’t look good at all. What would happen if he didn’t receive medical treatment? On the Nova Fortuna the doctor would have given him a shot and covered the wound in healing gel. Ethan wasn’t sure happened to infections that weren’t treated but whatever it was, it was happening to his foot.
Also, after his early success at creating a mutual, touch-based language with Quinn, progress had stalled. The patterns they’d agreed on included those for their own names and for numbers, water, food, yes and no (and, by extension, correct and incorrect) and parts of their bodies. Ethan now knew that soft pause soft-hard-soft stood for tentacle, and the pattern for the hole at the center of the thread organisms’ bodies was soft pause hard-hard-hard. He’d also taught Quinn patterns for major parts of his own anatomy, though the creature appeared to struggle to understand the difference between “eye” and “head,” and he’d wanted to assign each of Ethan’s fingers a different touch pattern.
Most importantly, after many demonstrations, Ethan had taught Quinn a pattern that meant “open.” When he was as sure as he could be that the creature understood his meaning, Ethan had tried to show that he wanted Quinn to open his cell, to no effect. It had been a tenuous hope. He doubted that the room had been created for any purpose other than to confine him, and Quinn wouldn’t be so stupid as to open the exit just because he was asked. Maybe he didn’t have the authority to do it, Ethan had mused, wondering about thread society.
He sat in the corner of his cell, nursing his aching foot, contemplating the fact that the conversation that he needed to have with Quinn, which involved him persuading the thread creatures to let him go, was weeks or months or perhaps years away. It might even prove impossible to reach that level of communication. Although he’d finally found food that was still edible in his pack and he had water for a few more days, Ethan couldn’t afford to spend much more time learning to communicate with his captors. The wound on his foot wasn’t going to get better by itself. He was worried that sooner or later it might kill him.
If Quinn wasn’t going to let Ethan go free when he asked, he would have to force his way out somehow. But the chamber’s walls were tough and he had nothing strong or sharp to cut the material. Even if he had, Quinn would undoubtedly guess what he was up to long before he succeeded. Ethan hadn’t experienced punishment from the thread creatures yet, and he didn’t want to find out what they would do if they caught him trying to escape. One disturbing possibility had crossed his mind: the creatures had so many tentacles they might consider his losing one or two of his own a mild form of discipline.
Any escape attempt Ethan made had to be fast and it had to be one hundred percent successful. He wouldn’t get another chance.
Quinn was outside the cell as always, waving his tentacles around apparently randomly, though for all Ethan knew the creature could have been explaining quantum physics. In fact, he was probably asking Ethan to return to the wall to continue their lessons, but he was in too much pain, too tired, and too despondent to pursue the extremely difficult and long-winded task.
Ethan closed his eyes, though that seemed to intensify the pain from his foot. He thought of the other Gens back at the settlement who were getting on with the task of colonization. He thought of Cariad and Cherry, and of Garwin. Had Cariad discovered whether Garwin was a Natural Movement follower? He wondered how the colony was getting along and if Cherry was finding it too much trouble to farm his land as well as her own.
His thoughts returned to Cariad. He usually tried to not think about her because when he did, the pain of missing her was so great it was almost as bad as the grief he felt over Lauren’s and Dr. Crowley’s deaths. He felt he would do anything and everything to see her again.
And with that thought, a possible answer to his problem popped into his mind. He worked out the steps, then scooted across the floor to the transparent wall. For his plan to work, Ethan had to make Quinn understand that the word “more.”
Then he realized he would not only have to convey the concept of “more” but also the concept of “I want.” He’d already tried to convey the idea of wanting for hours without success. How could he explain the meaning of something that he couldn’t show or demonstrate? Quinn couldn’t read a look of longing or hunger on Ethan’s face. He probably wasn’t paying attention to Ethan’s face at all. The threads did all their communicating with their limbs.
Ethan heaved a sigh and looked up at Quinn’s whirling tentacles. “Well, more shouldn’t be too hard, should it?” Wearily, he pulled over a few random soggy food packages to show his companion.
After beginning with one food package and adding others to the pile, followed by touching the wall in a set pattern over and over again, Ethan was reasonably convinced that Quinn understood the pattern to mean “more.”
“I want” was much more difficult. After a long while of trying Ethan remained uncertain that Quinn really knew what he meant. It was also possible that the creature had interpreted his meaning as “take something and pretend to eat it.”
Finally, when Ethan thought he had a slim chance of success with the sentence he wanted to convey to Quinn, he pushed aside the mound of food packages. Before he began, Ethan rehearsed the touch patterns in his mind. A mistake might lead to hours more confusion. When he was sure he was ready and Quinn was waiting with a tentacle resting against the other side of the wall, Ethan pressed out his message: “I want - more - food.”
A pause followed while Quinn lifted his tentacle away from the wall then replaced it. Hadn’t he understood the message? Ethan tried again. “I want more food.”
Quinn pressed his answer, “Yes.” But he didn’t leave the wall. Ethan had expected him to go away if he’d understood, but the thread creature remained in position with a tentacle resting on the transparent surface. Ethan tried for a third time. “I want more food.”
“Yes,” came the answer. What did Quinn mean? Was he saying that he understood the message? Or was he agreeing that Ethan did want more food but that it didn’t mean it was Quinn’s responsibility to go and get him some?
Either interpretation was entirely possible, and probably more besides. Ethan had no way of knowing what Quinn meant by his “Yes.”
Perhaps Ethan hadn’t been successful in conveying the ideas of “more” or “I want” after all. Whatever it was that had gone wrong, his attempt seemed to have failed. Ethan slumped against the wall, trying to shut out the pain radiating up from his foot.
He could feel Quinn’s messages through his shoulder, but he didn’t have the energy or the willpower to make the effort to interpret them. It looked like he would never make it out of the cell, never return to the settlement, never see Cariad again.
As the soft and hard pressures with pauses continued, Ethan wondered what Quinn made of his experimental subject. Was he concerned by its stillness? Was he trying to trigger it into a new performance? The thread monster would have to be disappointed. His entertainment was over for the day, if it was daytime. For all Ethan knew it could be the middle of the night.
He would have liked to have seen the surface of Concordia once more. Perhaps a view of the gigantic river in the starlight, or of the ocean beyond the caves. He would have counted himself lucky if he could have only seen the settlement. The single-story pre-fabricated homes, stores, warehouses, and workrooms would have been a better sight than the four walls of his prison and his alien overseer.
Ethan must have lost consciousness for the next thing he knew a noise startled him awake. He opened his eyes and hauled himself up from the floor where he’d slipped down to lie in the water. Pain lanced from his foot, making him gasp. The swelling had risen above his ankle. His foot had turned dusky.
The noise that had woken him repeated. A loud thump and clatter came from behind him. Ethan swiveled around. The roof hatch was opening. A pile of items had fallen through, wet with river water. All of them were from the flitter.
Ethan’s heart soared. For a moment even the pain from his foot was forgotten as he slid over toward the heap. There weren’t any food packets among the various objects. Of course there weren’t. The thread monsters had correctly identified and brought him all his food supplies in his first delivery. He’d been relying on the hope that the creatures wouldn’t be sure what might or might not be human food so that when he asked for more, they would bring him the other contents of the flitter. They probably guessed there was something else in there that he needed to survive.