Furthermore, given our proximity to Arkhati, the turnaround time for a transmission to the starhaven itself shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Sufficient time remained before the Pinion’s arrival for an actual dialogue with the branch of the Echelon based on Arkhati. Outside intervention, whatever its outcome might be, was imminent. My purgatory was almost over. I knew I was equal to another day of isolation. I wondered then about Saresh. Why, as a member of a softspoken race, had he pitched his voice louder than it needed to be for Ziral—sitting on an adjacent stool—to hear it? It seemed likely that he had wanted to be overheard. Was that giving him too much credit, though? Was I still being naïve, reading partisanship into actions that might have had nothing at all to do with me? He could simply have been inattentive. But carelessness of that sort would have been out of character in any Vardeshi. And Saresh had been my ally before.
I spent most of that day pacing around my tiny room, filled with an edgy excitement that refused to be contained. When the time came for my workout, I drove myself as hard as I could. Afterward I prepared dinner and carried it back to my quarters, as I’d done with my previous two meals. The mess hall was crowded; Vekesh and the others watched my entry and exit without comment. I ate sitting on the floor with my tray resting on the bed. The combination of exertion and spent adrenaline had done its work, and shortly before eight o’clock I fell into bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When I awakened a few hours later, I was floating.
I knew instantly what had happened: the Pinion’s artificial gravity generator had failed. I was suspended weightless a few inches above my bed, still tangled in my blanket. I must have shifted in my sleep and unknowingly propelled myself into the air. The darkness in my room was absolute. The dim blue radiance of my bedside panel was gone. I’d left a light on in the sanitation room, and that too had been extinguished. I felt a surge of nausea that was only partly due to the sudden absence of gravity. If multiple major ship’s systems had been compromised, was it possible that life support was among them? Were the oxygen generators inactive as well? I thought at once of my dream about the arboretum. Was I about to suffocate, hovering here alone in my tiny room, without ever knowing what had happened?
The gravity and the lights kicked in simultaneously. I slammed back down onto my bed. A dull orange glow suggestive of emergency lighting illuminated the computer panel by my door. An instant later, a klaxon began to wail in an eerie alien register. The sound was chilling. Something had gone horribly wrong, and I had absolutely no idea what it was, but as I clawed free of my blanket and scrambled to my feet, one thought overrode all others: I needed to find Saresh. I needed to beg, cajole, or threaten him into trying a Listening. All my previous misgivings had been silenced. I no longer cared about the risk that a telepathic contact, successful or otherwise, might fracture my mind like a pane of glass. If the ship had been damaged by deliberate hands, I would be blamed. My crewmates had already shown their willingness to believe unproven accusations. If Vekesh thought I had tried to destroy his ship, he might actually kill me.
And whether or not he did, every moment that I remained the prime target of suspicion gave the real saboteur more time to work. The destruction of the communications network hadn’t endangered any lives. But whatever had caused the gravity failure and triggered the klaxons must be far, far worse. It was possible that the ship had already been crippled beyond its capacity to preserve the conditions for life, but if it hadn’t, then I needed to prove myself innocent so that my crewmates could identify the aggressor before he or she acted again.
I pulled on whatever clothing came to hand, slid my feet into slip-on shoes, and ran to the door. It opened on the second try. Either the emergency had triggered an override of the locking mechanism, or someone had liberated me. I stepped out into the residential corridor, which was intermittently lit by the same orange glow I had seen in my quarters. The klaxon was louder out here. The hallway was empty. Where would I find Saresh? The axis chamber, maybe. I set off at a run, ducking into a secondary passage at the first opportunity. With the comm network still disabled, it seemed likely that my crewmates would choose to move about the ship via the wider primary channels, to increase their likelihood of encountering each other. I wanted to minimize my risk of running into anyone who would assume the worst about my unsupervised wanderings. Of course, it was equally possible that I would miss seeing Saresh himself, but the conservative approach seemed the safer one.
I reached helix three without incident. Outside the axis chamber, I hesitated. There was no way to know who was inside. How could I catch a glimpse of the room without revealing myself? As I stood there irresolute I heard running footsteps behind me. I turned around. It was Sohra. I lifted my hands to indicate the absence of weapons. She did the same.
“What’s going on?” I had to shout to be heard over the noise of the klaxon.
“An explosion blew a hole in one of the cargo holds.”
I swallowed hard. I had no technical understanding of the safeguards and redundancies built into Vardeshi ships, but I knew that on an Earth spacecraft, an explosion was tantamount to a death sentence. I tried to take comfort in the fact that we were still standing here. In the absolute worst case, I assumed, explosive decompression would already have ripped through the ship, expelling everyone on board into the vacuum and the swift cold death that awaited us there. And enough of the Pinion’s crucial systems were still functioning to provide us with artificial gravity and breathable air—for now, at least.
Pleadingly, knowing there was nothing I could do to persuade her, I said, “I don’t know how that happened. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“I know,” she said. “But Vekesh thinks you did. They’re looking for you.”
“Where’s Saresh?”
Sohra pointed. “Secondary systems. Helix two. Hurry.”
Between helix three and helix two I didn’t see anyone else or hear any voices. At some point the klaxon stopped its incessant howling. I knew roughly where secondary systems was located, but I didn’t think I could access it from the narrow passage I was currently navigating. I went out into the main corridor, breathing a sigh of tentative relief when I found it unoccupied. Then I rounded a corner and came face to face with Hathan.
Both of us froze in surprise. Then he moved, shifting his weight just slightly, something I wouldn’t even have registered were it not for my handful of Krav-Maga sessions. He was readying himself to fight. I registered something else as well: the glitter of metal in his hand. He was holding a knife. Never before had I seen a weapon in a Vardeshi hand.
“Hathan, please,” I said. I raised my hands slowly, fingers spread, as I had done with Sohra. “I am not your enemy. We’re on the same side. And I need your help.”
There was a long pause while he studied me. Then he said, “I’d like to believe that. But you’re a long way from your quarters.”
“I need to find Saresh.”
I saw the flicker in his eyes. He hadn’t expected to hear his brother’s name. “Why Saresh?”
“Because I’m innocent, and I need him to prove it. He’s a Vox. He offered to do a Listening. I said no. Now I’m saying yes. Can you help me find him?”
Hathan took a step forward. I held my ground, though I wanted to retreat. He said, “When was this?”
“After the tribunal. When he walked me back to my quarters.”
“You’re lying.”
I shook my head slightly. “I’m not.”
“He wouldn’t have said that.”
“He did.”
He shifted his grip on the knife. “Even if that’s true, by your own admission you refused him before. Why change your mind now?”
“Because everything’s different! No one’s life was on the line when the comm network went down. Now we’re all in danger.”
“Or worse,” he said. “Not all of the crew is accounted for.”
“Is Zey all right?”
He hesita
ted before answering. “He’s fine. I’ve seen him.”
“Is there any chance that the explosion was an accident?”
“No.”
I didn’t ask how he knew. It stood to reason that if a navigational error and subsequent collision was to blame, he would know about it. And while technical problems of the sort that triggered mid-flight explosions did sometimes occur, I had been assured that they were incredibly rare. I took a deep breath. Hathan had answered my questions thus far, which was more than I had expected. I knew his patience must be reaching its end. I needed to make my case as concisely as possible. “I know you don’t trust me,” I said. “Do you trust Saresh?”
“Yes.” His eyes never left my face.
“Then talk to him. That’s all I’m asking you to do. Ask him if he offered to do a Listening after the tribunal. Bring me with you, so you don’t lose track of me. If you don’t want to do that . . .” I looked around. “Lock me in an empty room or something. I don’t care. If I’m lying, Saresh will tell you right away, and you’ll already have me in custody. But I’m not lying, and if by some miracle the Listening actually works, I’ll be able to prove it. Right now.”
Hathan advanced another step. “How do I know that you’re not just stalling? For all I know, you could have another incendiary device in place and ready to be activated.”
“You said yourself that I’m a long way from my quarters. If I had a remote detonator, why would I come all the way down here?”
“An explosive can be programmed,” he pointed out. “You could have set it to ignite at a prearranged time. Maybe you’re here to lead us away from the true location.”
“If that’s true, Saresh will know it the minute the Listening starts.”
“If it works.”
“It has to work,” I said flatly. “We’re all fucked if it doesn’t.”
His gray eyes narrowed. He didn’t know whether to believe me. I didn’t know how to persuade him that I was telling the truth. In that instant I thought our longing for communion, for shared understanding with or without rana or the near-supernatural powers of a Vox, must be nearly identical. I didn’t know what factor tilted the balance in my direction—the logic of my argument and the rare use of profanity seemed equally likely—but at last he gave a strange little nod, almost a twitch, and lowered the knife.
“Sigils of our fathers,” he said, “stand witness that I am trying to do the right thing.” He gestured down the corridor in the direction I had initially been heading: away from my quarters. “Let’s go. Saresh is in secondary systems. Don’t make me regret this.”
I wasn’t sure how he would have explained our movement away from the more populated areas of the ship to anyone we encountered, but fortunately we didn’t see any other crew members on the short trip to secondary systems. Shortly before we arrived, Hathan grabbed my elbow and pulled me out of the main corridor and down a side passage. There were doors to our right and left. He released my arm and keyed open the right-hand door. “Wait here. I’ll get Saresh.”
I looked into the room. “It’s a storage closet.”
“And?”
“It’s dark.”
“Good. No one will see you.” He shoved me through the doorway.
The storage closet was long and narrow, about the size of a twin bed. After Hathan closed the door behind me, the darkness was complete. I felt my way to the back of the room and stood there, hands braced against the opposing walls, trying not to panic. What if he hadn’t decided to trust me after all? What if he was looking for Khavi Vekesh even now, to tell him he’d located the human spy? What if he himself was the traitor? He could have killed me with the knife, of course, but it was easier—and cleaner—simply to lock me in a closet in the bowels of the ship and leave me to die. If anyone found me, they would think I’d been looking for a safe hiding place and accidentally locked myself in. If they found me.
When the door finally slid open, I gasped in relief and blinked against the bright light from the corridor. There were two figures silhouetted in the doorway: Hathan and Saresh. “Avery,” Saresh said. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” I was pleased that my voice didn’t shake.
Saresh stepped toward me. “You’ll need to sit down.” I sat cross-legged on the floor of the closet, and he seated himself opposite me. “Hold out your hands,” he instructed. I obeyed. He took my hands in his. Again I was startled by the coolness of Vardeshi skin. Hathan stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him. I drew a long breath and let it out slowly. My nerves jangled with an excitement that verged on panic. The clamor of ideas and questions and fears that filled my mind was so cacophonous I was half convinced he could already hear it.
“Are you ready to begin?” Saresh asked. He didn’t sound like someone currently sitting in a vessel in the remote depths of space with a hole ripped in its side. His voice was utterly serene.
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
“All right. I want you to relax. Breathe deeply. Let your mind drift. I’m going to try to connect with you. It’s a little bit like opening a door. I’ll do it as slowly as I can.”
I took another deep breath and reached for a semblance of tranquility. I could still feel the pressure of his fingers on mine. I tried to focus on that sensation, to picture the vivid and intricate lines of the sigil on his right hand, to let the image fill my thoughts.
And suddenly there were two people in my head.
I gasped. The feeling was astonishing. I sought a comparison and ended up, oddly, with a memory of swimming over coral reefs in the Caribbean. I felt as if my mind, my entire being, were suspended in cool, silken, luminous water. It even had a color: clear, pellucid blue with elusive flashes of gold at the corners of my vision. A sense of kindness and deep calm pervaded me. This was Saresh, his presence, his mind. I felt enveloped by it, but the feeling was strangely peaceful, not oppressive. I felt safe.
Remarkable, I heard him say—or think? I heard his voice, at any rate. You sound nothing like a Vardeshi, but I can hear you. I can’t believe it. I really didn’t think this would work with a human.
I still can’t believe that it works at all, I said. So what happens now? What do I need to do?
Think about the communications network, he instructed. You don’t need to give me words, just images—memories.
I tried to place myself back in Khavi Vekesh’s office at the moment of the accusation. It was easier than I had expected. Something about the Listening trance brought the memory to the surface of my mind, as fresh and vivid as if I had just left the room. I heard myself ask, “You think I did this?” My voice climbed precariously high on the last word. Just as before, my stomach churned with fear, bewilderment, and rage. How could they have gotten it so wrong?
I understand, came Saresh’s voice. Think about what Vekesh found in your quarters.
And instantly I was there in the doorway, staring in utter confusion at the two sinister silver objects in Vekesh’s palm, realizing with a horrible, vertiginous lurch that the plot against me reached further and deeper than I had imagined.
Good. This is the last one. Remember the explosion.
I had scarcely accessed the memory—the shock of weightlessness, the unrelieved darkness of my quarters, the sudden inrush of terror—when he said, I’ve seen enough. I’m going to break the link now.
And the sense of being bathed in cool blue-lit serenity was abruptly gone.
If the Listening trance was akin to being underwater, coming out of it was as abrupt and disorienting as breaking the surface after a deep dive. It was a moment before I remembered where I was and what was happening. Then I looked up. Saresh was still holding my hands. There was a depth of understanding in his blue eyes that I had never seen there before. And in a sudden heady rush of comprehension I knew why. The Listening had worked. Our minds had connected. My innocence had been revealed. But something more than that had happened. Saresh had seen something in my memories that I hadn’t known was
there, something I hadn’t even known to look for. By some unfathomable mechanism, the Listening had uncovered a truth so private I had been keeping it hidden even from myself.
I was in love with Hathan.
Seen through the lens of memory, it was unmistakable. Hathan drew my attention with an almost gravitational pull. I knew precisely when he entered a room and when he left it. I knew the rhythm of his footsteps, I knew how many times he stirred his senek, I knew the deft flick of his fingers as he paged through incoming messages on his flexscreen. I was attuned to the sound of his voice. His light staccato syllables cut across all other noise. Even in the midst of the terror and confusion that had plagued every memory Saresh had asked to see, my awareness had been centered on him. It was centered on him now, as he stood behind his brother, lit from behind by the dull orange radiance from the corridor, wariness and suspicion evident in every line of his body.
Ascending (The Vardeshi Saga Book 1) Page 27