Ascending (The Vardeshi Saga Book 1)

by Meg Pechenick

  Khiva laughed. “Take off the visor.”

  It took a few moments for the adrenaline from the fall to subside. Shakily I said, “I think this is a little too advanced for me. Can I just run? Without the visor—or the harness?”

  “You mean . . . flat? In a straight line?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I guess you could,” she said. I could hear her unspoken question: But why would you want to?

  The other Vardeshi evidently shared Khiva’s attitude. Whenever I ran on the treadmill without a visor or harness, I was guaranteed to draw amused looks. My other workout routines drew stares as well. It didn’t help that my athletic attire, conservative by Earth standards, was more revealing than theirs—and more colorful. I tried to ignore the attention. I knew it was only my own anxiety that caused me to read contempt into what was for the most part genuine curiosity. Still, I preferred to exercise when no one else was around. I was in good shape for a human, but by the end of a workout I was inevitably red and sweaty, whereas my crewmates completed their own workouts with hardly a hair out of place. The evidence of their exertions was limited to a delicate azure flush. And I knew the contrast wasn’t in my head, because the first time I stepped off the treadmill at the end of a run, Ziral sprinted up to me and asked if I needed medical attention.

  “You look like you’re in pain,” she said. “And are you supposed to be that color?”

  I assured her, somewhat emphatically, that I was fine and a perfectly normal color for a human. No one commented on my skin tone after that, but my crewmates continued to watch me with concern, especially when I paused mid-workout to replenish my oxygen. So now I exercised in the afternoons or evenings, when I knew I’d have the fitness center more or less to myself. On this night, though, I arrived to find the room unexpectedly occupied. The circular space was divided roughly in half, and the farther hemisphere was empty, with thick protective mats lining the floor and walls. I’d seen people practicing fitness routines in that space—Daskar doing something resembling tai chi and Ahnir shadowboxing in a virtual-reality visor—but the only activities I’d seen thus far were solitary ones. Tonight the space was occupied by more than half of the Pinion’s crew, including all of the Takheris, Vekesh, Ziral, Vethna, and Sohra. The others were grouped in a semicircle around Vekesh, who was speaking. All of them were barefoot and wore loose pants and tighter-fitting shirts of deep indigo with a broad gold stripe down one side. Some sort of martial-arts uniform? I wondered. As I thought it, Vekesh beckoned to Ziral, and she stepped forward. The others moved back to make space for them. At a command from Vekesh, he and Ziral assumed what was clearly a fighting stance, poised on the balls of their feet, hands raised. Then Ziral attacked him, and he flung her off. She landed at an angle that should have snapped bones. I winced. She leapt to her feet again, and they went through the steps a second time at half speed. Even slowed down, the movements were almost too swift for me to track. The initial encounter had been a confused blur of motion: first inward, then outward. Vekesh gave another command, and his six disciples found partners and began practicing the steps under his appraising eye.

  This, I decided, was my karmic reward for all the times I’d let myself be stared at. I stepped onto my treadmill and began my own run. Using a trick familiar to any denizen of Earth’s public transportation, I put on my wireless headphones but kept the volume muted. I didn’t want anything to distract me from the martial-arts lesson.

  I’d known the Vardeshi were strong. The freeweights I used in my own regimen were the lightest Khiva had been able to find. The couple of other machines I’d ventured to try—with assistance, of course—had been almost impossible for me on their lowest settings. I wasn’t deceived by the fact that my shipmates looked as cool and tidy after exercising as before. Any one of them, at any given time, was working substantially harder than I was. But I hadn’t known they were so fast. Watching them fight, I felt a mixture of pure aesthetic pleasure and profound dismay. Was I ever going to stumble upon anything they didn't do well?

  Toward the end of my run, just as I was deciding whether my current mile would be the last or second-to-last one, the lesson ended. Sohra and Vethna, whom I’d observed to be the weakest of the group, made their way off the mats and threaded through the machines to the door. The others paused for a water break before moving into a session of unstructured combat. Hathan and Ziral partnered off for a round of advanced sparring that involved hurling each other repeatedly into a wall. I could hear the impacts of their blows, as well as those of their bodies striking the mats, and I wondered if they would have bruises tomorrow. Somehow I doubted they cared. Saresh and Vekesh were working on a series of kicks I vaguely recognized from the earlier stages of the lesson. Zey stood watching until Vekesh pulled him in to assist in a demonstration.

  After a few minutes the impromptu sessions concluded. The three Takheris were last on the floor. They were nearly to the edge of the mats when—with no apparent provocation—Saresh went down. I’d finished my run and was stepping down off my treadmill, water bottle in hand, when the unexpected movement caught my eye. Saresh leapt to his feet, muttered a curse word so vile I’d only heard Vethna use it, and swung around. Hathan and Zey were behind him. Both wore innocent looks. I wondered which one had tripped him. Saresh launched himself at Hathan, who dodged him adroitly. Older brother pursued younger halfway across the practice mats. Then, just as they came to blows, Zey—who had circled around them unobserved—took a flying leap and tackled Saresh from behind. In the ensuing collision all three of them went down. When they got to their feet all three were laughing. I knew Zey would laugh at the slightest provocation, and Saresh, for all his sober demeanor, was quick to smile. But I had never seen Hathan so unguarded. And, suddenly, there it was: the resemblance to his brothers, hitherto elusive, now stamped clearly on features lit by a rare flash of humor. I wondered how I could have failed to see it before.

  I was staring again. Knowing that fraternal affection was far less defensible as a subject of scrutiny than an unfamiliar martial art, I turned away and reached for my sweatshirt. I just had time to pull it over my head and run my fingers through my damp hair before Zey called, “What do you think, Eyvri? Ready to learn ranshai?”

  “Is that what it’s called?” I zipped up my gym bag and slung it over my shoulder. “I think I’m better off as a spectator. I’m not very coordinated.”

  “Wasn’t there a martial-arts component to your training?” said Hathan.

  “Sort of. I spent two weeks learning that the range of scenarios in which I can’t defend myself is a lot wider than I thought. Pretty much infinite, in fact.”

  “Your instructor couldn’t have been very good,” Saresh observed.

  I grinned. “Believe me, she didn’t have much to work with. And in any case, based on what I just saw, I seriously doubt that any amount of training would make a difference. It’s hard to fight an enemy you can’t see coming.”

  “I guess we’re pretty intimidating,” Zey said smugly.

  “You in particular are downright terrifying,” Saresh said.

  Hathan said, “Especially when you look away in the middle of a drill and let Ziral kick you in the ribs.”

  “I actually saw that one,” I said. “I almost brought you my oxygen inhaler.”

  Zey grinned. “I would have used it, too.”

  Some instinct prompted me to look at Hathan just then. I was surprised by the mingling of affection and exasperation I saw in his face. Was he annoyed at Zey for making a mistake in the drill? Or for some other reason? If there was another cause, I couldn’t guess at it. He looked back at me and said—a shade too abruptly, I thought—“We should go. Good night, novi.”

  “Good night,” I said.

  They were halfway to the door before I recalled that I hadn’t yet made a plan with Zey to watch the next installment of our show. Evidently he had the same thought, because he called over his shoulder to me, “My quarters? Half an hour?”

&
nbsp; “Better make it an hour. I have to wait for my shower slot.”

  He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and turned to catch up with his brothers. As they went out the door, I heard Saresh say something with the unmistakable lilt of a question. I caught the words Earth culture in Zey’s response. Well, it was true, I thought, trying to suppress a surge of what I was certain was misplaced guilt. I was helping Zey to gain a better understanding of Earth culture. We weren’t doing anything wrong. Technically. I refused to entertain the question that naturally succeeded that thought: Why, if we weren’t breaking any rules, had we tacitly agreed to keep our nocturnal activities a secret?

  By the time I arrived at Zey’s door an hour later, laptop tucked under my arm, I had managed to reassure myself that everything was fine. I felt a twinge of renewed unease when, just before Zey opened his door, Vethna came sauntering down the corridor toward his own quarters. He saw me and stopped. “What are you doing?”

  “Going to see Zey,” I said.

  He frowned. “Now? Alone?”

  The leer in his voice was unmistakable, but I couldn’t confront it without going on the defensive, so I said simply, “Yes.”

  His eyes moved from my face to the laptop, and I braced myself for another question, but he said nothing more. He just stood there leaning indolently against the wall, making no move to unlock his own door, until Zey’s door hissed open.

  “Finally,” Zey said as I slipped inside. “I’ve been waiting all day for this. Next time, we’re watching the season finale whenever we get to it. I don’t care how late it is.” He registered my expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I hesitated. “Probably nothing. Let’s watch.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I was just finishing an errand the following morning, delivering a medical scanner to Daskar after Sohra had made some repairs to it, when the chime of my flexscreen signaled an incoming message. I waited until I was out in the corridor to read it. To my surprise, it was from Khavi Vekesh, summoning me immediately to one of the conference rooms on helix two. The message comprised only a single directive sentence, with no illuminating details, and I had no idea what had prompted it. I sent back an acknowledgment and hurried on my way. I had lately been experimenting with finding my way around the Pinion via the network of narrow secondary passageways that honeycombed the ship, winding around and behind the main corridors, both as an added challenge and to familiarize myself with their twists and turns. Zey had shown me the passageways a few days ago, and I had immediately recognized their usefulness in providing alternate routes to a given destination. This time, though, I took the direct path.

  I had never been to this particular conference room before. It was long and narrow, furnished only with an ovoid table and a few seats. Vekesh himself was seated at the end of the table farthest from the door. He was flanked by Zey and Saresh on one side and Vethna on the other. It was an unexpected grouping. I studied my crewmates’ faces, searching for any hint of an explanation. Saresh looked grave, Zey uneasy. When my eyes moved to Vethna, he gazed coolly back at me. I moved to take a seat next to Zey, but before I could do so, Khavi Vekesh said, “Remain standing, please.”

  I frowned but did as instructed. Vekesh continued, “Novi Alkhat, I’m told you and Novi Takheri have been spending a substantial amount of time together. In private.” He glanced up at me, his dark eyes direct. “Is this true?”

  “Yes, Khavi.” Even had I intended to lie to him—which I didn’t—the memory of Vethna standing in the corridor last night was fresh in my mind. Zey and I hadn’t concealed our meetings, only our activities. I doubted there was anyone on the ship who didn’t know we’d been spending time together. I glanced again at Vethna. His face wasn’t nearly as well controlled as before; he now wore a faint self-satisfied smirk.

  “Doing what?” asked Vekesh.

  I looked at Zey. He continued to stare straight ahead.

  “Exploring Earth culture,” I said.

  “How?” The single word was deceptively soft. I heard the steel underlying it, the first indication of the anger I sensed Vekesh was holding tightly in check.

  I lifted my chin. “I’ve been showing him recordings of theater productions.” There was no direct translation for television.

  “Videos.”

  “Yes.”

  “Videos in which English is spoken.”

  “Yes,” I said again.

  Vekesh gazed at me. I looked back for as long as I could, but I was the first to glance away. I felt vulnerable and unsettled, standing in the center of the floor like a supplicant while he lounged comfortably on his stool.

  I expected him to pursue the subject of language, but his next question surprised me. “What is the content of these performances?”

  “The content? They’re . . . stories about how things might have gone if the Vardeshi had come back to Earth twenty-five years ago.”

  “Be more specific,” he said.

  “I’m not sure what you want to know.”

  “Allow me, then. The stories are about a Vardeshi spy who betrays his own people and renounces his allegiance to his homeworld after he falls in love with a human woman.”

  I felt a chill of foreboding. The description was technically correct, but it would never have occurred to me to describe Divided by Stars in that way. I was sure it hadn’t occurred to Zey either. Vekesh must have compelled Zey to tell him about the show in exhaustive detail. He had then extracted the pieces he needed to fit together a narrative that suggested something far darker than the reality.

  “They’re . . . stories,” I said.

  “Stories about treason.”

  “Khavi . . .” I heard the tremor in my voice. I was losing ground in this exchange, and we both knew it. “This is what humans do. We tell each other stories. They don't mean anything. They’re just one of the ways we explore the world around us. We use stand-ins for humans to talk about humans. Every couple of years there’s a new trend. Vampires, robots, werewolves, wizards. After you disappeared, we told each other stories about you. This was one of them. It’s more than twenty years old. Nearly everything in it is invented, because the writers had no real information to work with. They thought there were two planets called Greater and Lesser Vardesh. They thought your people lived for three hundred years. It’s fiction.”

  “It’s subversive,” Vekesh said quietly. “And I won’t have it polluting the mind of my youngest and most vulnerable crewman. I want these recordings destroyed.”

  “That’s . . . idiotic,” I said.

  “Avery,” Saresh said.

  I heard the appeal in his voice, and in the fact that he gave my name its English pronunciation. I ignored both. “Well, it is! There’s nothing subversive about what Zey and I are doing. Come to that, there’s nothing wrong with it either. I’ve been following your language policy, but there’s nothing in my contract that says you have the right to police how I spend my off-duty hours. And if you’d watched any of the show—which, by the way, you’re welcome to do—you’d see that it’s not actually about spies or allegiances or any of that. It’s about humans and Vardeshi getting to know each other. Which is exactly what Zey and I are trying to do. If it bothers you that we were doing it in secret, we’ll watch it in the lounge. Or the mess hall. Or wherever you prefer. But to talk about destroying it is just . . . ridiculous.”

  During my diatribe Zey had grown paler and paler, while Vethna looked first incredulous and then exultant. I hadn’t intended to speak so forcefully, but I had allowed myself to be borne along by the force of my conviction. Now that I’d finished speaking, however, my certainty began to ebb. I knew that, whether or not I was in the right, Vekesh was likely to hear the insolence in my challenge and ignore any truth it contained. While I had been speaking, his eyes hadn’t left my face. Now he looked off into the distance for a pause that seemed interminable.

  Then, unexpectedly, he said, “You’re right.”

  Vethna blinked. I said disb
elievingly, “I’m right?”

  “Yes. You’re right. The restrictions are unreasonable. From now on, you can spend your recreation time however you choose. And speak whatever language you choose. Consider the language policy rescinded.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Neither do I,” Saresh murmured.

  A look passed between him and Vekesh that I couldn’t decode. Then Vekesh said—almost defiantly, it seemed to me—“Permit me to clarify. You’re to turn in your uniform and flexscreen to Rhevi Khiva tomorrow morning. You are no longer a member of my crew.”

  “What?” I said.

  “The experiment has failed. It’s not your fault. The error was mine. Clearly our two species have less in common than initially appeared to be the case. It’s become increasingly clear that it isn’t realistic to ask you to adhere to our standards of conduct. You’ve made a credible effort; no one on either side of the alliance will deny that. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent cultural representative. In time, when our two races come to understand each other better, the Fleet may extend a similar offer to another human—a military officer, perhaps. It’s a problem of compatibility. Don’t you agree—Miss Alcott?” The last two words were said, tauntingly, in English.

  I glared at him. He looked coldly back. He had complete control of the situation, and we both knew it. He knew how desperately I wanted to belong on the Pinion, to be enmeshed in the daily round of its life, rather than peering in from outside like all the other Strangers were relegated to doing. I wondered how long he had known that. Perhaps from as far back as the interview, when my revelation of my language skills had disclosed something else as well: the ferocity of my hunger for more access to the Vardeshi. The other candidates had wanted the placement for its prestige and the adventure it promised. I had wanted it more. No, I had wanted them more. Vekesh must have known even then how easily I would be led. Unbidden, a sentence Saresh had spoken nearly a month ago came back to me. You don’t have to be a novi to go to Vardesh Prime. He had been trying to warn me that the title was a privilege, a gift. It would be the work of a moment for Vekesh to snatch it away.