Linked

by Imogen Howson

  Cadan came in just as Ivan uncovered the long metal dishes in the middle of the table. Cadan looked as relaxed as if the earlier attack had never happened, but he was wearing not only the obligatory wrist unit that connected him to the bridge, but also the nonessential earpiece, a small black clip that fitted over the top of his ear. He threw a quick greeting around the room, then took a seat at the head of the table, a couple of places away from where Elissa and Lin sat.

  Elissa looked down, twitching her napkin into her lap. Earlier, on the flight deck, the thought of telling him everything had flashed, tempting and treacherous, into her head. It had been wiped out almost instantly, but all the same, seeing him in his official garb, uniform jacket buttoned up to his neck, earpiece snug against his ear, taking without hesitation the highest-ranked place at the head of the table, her stomach dropped with the horrified realization that she could have betrayed herself and Lin to him.

  It was another danger she hadn’t thought about: the danger of the weakness within herself that had driven her to ask help of her parents, of her brother, that could drive her into asking help of even SFI officials if they looked at her with kindness, if she let herself think they could be trusted.

  The crew’s conversation flowed over and around them, letting them sit undisturbed, a huge relief after what Elissa had feared. And the food was delicious—real food, after the snack bars and machine nutri-packs they’d been eating for what seemed like days. Fragrant fish curry and long-grain rice, pale yellow, spiked with cumin seeds and cardamom pods. But Elissa only enjoyed it until she glanced sideways and saw Lin, both elbows on the table, napkin lying ignored, scooping up forkfuls of fish and sauce far too fast to be polite.

  Embarrassment flashed over Elissa even quicker than fear. She’d seen Lin eat before, but it had always been in hurried, informal circumstances—she hadn’t noticed, hadn’t thought to anticipate, that Lin’s table manners wouldn’t be the same as those of the upper sections of Sekoian society.

  Of course they aren’t. Of course—I was stupid not to think about it. And I should be ashamed to be embarrassed of her. It’s not her fault.

  Elissa gritted her teeth against the instinctive cringing as Lin put down her fork and picked up her water glass without first wiping her fingers, leaving a smudge on the smooth surface of the glass. She shouldn’t be embarrassed, but she was right to be afraid. Anything that showed Lin as different, anything that drew suspicion onto them . . . they couldn’t afford that. Not on this Sekoian ship.

  At Elissa’s right, Stewart stood up and stepped over the bench to go refill his water glass at the wall dispenser. As Lin picked her fork back up and speared a piece of fish, Elissa seized the opportunity and slid her left hand over to touch Lin’s elbow. Lin glanced at her questioningly.

  Elissa flicked a look down at Lin’s fork, then at where her own right hand was poised just above the table, her elbow tucked neatly down at her side, her napkin laid across her lap.

  Lin’s eyes followed her gaze, then came back up, a look of bewilderment in them. Elissa leaned over so her mouth was next to Lin’s ear. “Table manners,” she murmured as softly as she could.

  For an instant, understanding showed in Lin’s face; then color swept over it, a wave of visible humiliation. All at once Elissa remembered how Lin had looked when Elissa had discovered the hole in the back of her head. Ashamed, as if it were her fault. As if somehow she were responsible for every horrific thing that had been done to her.

  Lin moved her elbows off the table, then pulled her napkin into her lap, her fingers tight on it, crumpling the thin paper. When she next picked up her fork, her movements betrayed an almost painful caution, and her cheeks still burned.

  I had to warn you. I had to. We can’t afford to make anyone suspicious. Now that it was too late, Elissa thought of a host of other ways she could have warned Lin without humiliating her. Tense with remorse, with the knowledge that she’d hurt her sister and couldn’t take it back, she stole a quick look up to see if anyone was watching—and met Cadan’s eyes.

  His gaze jolted her, turning her skin cold. Oh God, of all people—it has to be Cadan watching. He’ll have noticed. The lies I told him—they won’t hold up if he decides to investigate.

  But after a second she realized it wasn’t suspicion in his eyes. It was something close to distaste.

  He reached for his napkin, then leaned forward, speaking past Elissa. “Ms. May, can I pass you anything?”

  Lin looked up, already shaking her head, and as she did, Cadan planted both elbows on the table, fork still held in the fingers of one hand. With the other he crumpled his napkin, then dropped it to lie, creased and messy, next to his plate. He smiled at Lin, the warm smile Elissa remembered from a long time ago. “Ivan tells me he has something else delicious prepared for tonight’s meal—I hope you’ll join us again?”

  “I . . .” Lin shot an indecisive look at Elissa. “I’m not sure.”

  “I don’t think so.” Elissa spoke quickly, trying to sound polite. “It’s very kind of you, but we’ll be fine in our cabin.”

  Cadan didn’t even glance at her. He spoke again to Lin, his words very clear, elbows still firmly on the table. “That’s a shame, Ms. May. We’d be very happy to have you join us, if you’d like to. There’s entirely no need to feel you should stay in your cabin.” Then his eyes did flick to Elissa, and the emphasis in his last sentence was beyond clear.

  He’d seen her gesture to Lin. He’d seen Lin’s embarrassment, seen her careful changing of the way she ate. But of course he couldn’t know that Elissa was trying to keep them both blended in, unremarkable, unmemorable. He thought—Oh, for God’s sake! Heat rushed into her face, until she knew it must be glowing as hot as Lin’s had a minute earlier. He thinks I’m criticizing Lin’s table manners, humiliating her, for no other reason than that I want her to fit in. He thinks I’d do that to someone—someone who’s supposed to be my friend.

  For a flaming instant she wanted to set him straight, wanted to tell him she didn’t care about table manners, that he had no idea what was going on in her head. And that even if that had been what was going on, it was none of his business—it wasn’t his duty to defend Lin against her. She bit back the impulse, looked away, and, despite her appetite having disappeared, took another mouthful of curry.

  “That’s both of you, of course, isn’t it, Captain?” Stewart stepped back across the bench into his place. Elissa looked up and found him smiling down at her. “He should have insisted you join us for breakfast, too. The nutri-machines will keep you alive, sure, but it’s not like we’re a warship—there’s no reason you should stay in your quarters.”

  “I did extend an invitation,” Cadan said, his voice cool and detached.

  Stewart laughed. “Yes, but did you insist?” He sat down and smiled again at Elissa, as if inviting her to join him in his lighthearted mockery of Cadan. “He sometimes overlooks these little niceties, Ms. Ivory—you’ll have to excuse him.”

  Out of politeness Elissa responded to his smile, but she was rigid with discomfort. Surely Cadan’s copilot must be able to pick up the stiffness in Cadan’s voice, the flush still burning in her cheeks? Was he a particular friend of Bruce’s, that he felt he had to make his sister welcome on board the ship? But if so, surely she’d have heard about him before?

  At that point someone at the other side of the captain’s place spoke to Cadan, and his attention was drawn away for a moment.

  Stewart leaned a little closer. “Hey. Honestly, Ms. Ivory, we’d be happy to have you both join us. You don’t need to be shy. And you don’t need to wait for an invitation from the captain, either!” He smiled at her again, and suddenly Elissa saw in his smile what she should have seen before. What maybe she would have seen if she hadn’t been out—way out—of the dating scene for so long.

  He wasn’t being kind to a friend’s little sister. He wasn’t looking at her like she was anyone’s little sister at all.

  It threw her into
instant confusion—partly flattered surprise, but shot through with pure alarm. She didn’t know how to do this anymore. And she couldn’t afford to have him interested in her—not like that, not like any way.

  She felt the blush climbing back into her face and fought to suppress it. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was interested in him. If she left the ship and he wanted to keep in touch, she’d have to lie to him, lead him to think he’d be able to do so, that Elissa Ivory wasn’t going to change her hair and name and disappear. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t be so ruthless.

  But if I do, if I do lead him on to think I’m interested, at least it will take his attention away from Lin. The thought came as if from somewhere outside her own head—or from a part of her she hadn’t known about or acknowledged, a cold, calm streak slicing through the confusion.

  She didn’t need to think about it anymore. She let the blush come, glowing into her cheeks. She dropped her eyelids for a single, confused-looking second, then raised them again so that for a moment her eyes met Stewart’s. Flirting—turns out you don’t forget how. Just like riding a skycycle.

  She leaned back in her chair, twirling some hair around her finger, not letting herself despise what she was doing. “That’s superkind of you. If you’re sure that’s okay . . .”

  His smile widened, and she’d been right, that was interest—attraction—in his eyes. “Oh, absolutely, Ms. Ivory.”

  She laughed. It came out a little breathy with nerves, but given the impression she was trying to convey, that was probably okay. “Please, that just sounds like my mother. Everyone calls me Lissa. I mean, all my friends. And you know my brother and everything, don’t you? You’re, like, almost family or something.”

  His eyebrows went up quizzically. “Or something, I hope. ‘Family’ sounds a little bit too close, you know?”

  This time she managed a giggle. “Okay. How about a distant cousin?”

  “How distant?”

  “Oh, really distant.”

  He grinned at her. “Yeah, I can live with that.”

  Elissa let the twisted lock of hair go and ran a finger up to tuck the strands behind her ear. “Bruce completely hasn’t told me enough about you. You’re in the same year, right?”

  “Right.” He said something else, kept on talking, but suddenly Elissa wasn’t listening. Cadan had looked back toward them, and his eyes were such a cold blue that when they met hers, every cell in her body seemed to stop still.

  She held his gaze with an effort, defiance standing in for courage. What?

  He raised his eyebrows. Nothing.

  Fine, then. She began to slide her gaze away, determined not to let her face show anything other than indifference, when all at once the ship seemed to shiver.

  Around the table people froze in place, hands stopping dead midmovement, voices as instantly silent as if a soundproof barrier had fallen.

  Elissa’s heart seemed to stop dead too. That shiver—it hadn’t been like the blast of the pirate attack, but it hadn’t been normal, either. Her hand went automatically out, meeting Lin’s as it moved toward hers. Their fingers clasped like magnets locking together. Not pirates. Surely it’s not pirates.

  “Cadan?” said Stewart.

  Cadan was already on his feet, his wrist unit open. His voice was clipped and tight. “I don’t know. There’s nothing. We’re picking up nothing.” He stepped backward over the bench. “I’m getting to the bridge.”

  Then the speaker up in the corner between wall and ceiling whined into life, and a voice spoke.

  “Attention, Phoenix. That was your first warning. We have jammed your shields, we have you surrounded, and we are prepared to fire. We demand communication with the captain.”

  LIN’S HAND tightened so hard around Elissa’s that Elissa felt every fingernail. She couldn’t breathe, her body frozen, her eyes fixed on Cadan.

  There was a white shade around Cadan’s mouth. His eyes were like ice. He clicked a button on his earpiece and spoke, his voice coldly furious. “Get the hell off my public speakers. You’ve hacked this far into the system, switch to private band.”

  Not-quite silence stretched out for a moment that lasted forever, then the speaker went dead.

  Cadan swung around, took two strides to the wall, and jabbed a code into a little keypad Elissa hadn’t noticed. Metal slid to the sides to reveal a control panel and screen, dark and blank. Cadan pressed his thumb to it, and the screen woke faster than Elissa had known was possible.

  As Cadan swiped open windows and summoned Stewart over with a jerk of his head, as the rest of the crew moved to standing, some of them drawing weapons from holsters she hadn’t even realized they carried, Elissa’s heart slammed back into motion, banging so hard against her chest, she had to fight for breath. Alone at the table Lin sat as if turned to stone, staring up at the speaker as if it would tell her what was going on.

  “It’s them,” she said. “They’ve come back—”

  “It’s all right.” Elissa spoke across her without even thinking if it was the truth or not.

  Lin shook her head, a tiny quiver. “They’ve jammed the shields. They’re going to fire.”

  “Lin.” Elissa tried to say her name calmly. “This is an SFI ship. This is what they’re built for. Cadan will get the shields back up. He won’t let them hurt you.”

  “I might,” said Cadan. Elissa jerked around to look at him in disbelief. “If you don’t stop talking for a minute so I can . . . Okay. Markus, I need you here. Stew and I have to get to the bridge.”

  “Yes sir.” Markus, a man about thirty years old, tall and deeply tanned, seemed to be there before Elissa caught up with who Cadan was talking to. Cadan stepped back to make way for him at the control panel. “I’ve locked them out, but they’re jumping—you need to keep changing the band so they can’t hack in again. As long as you’re keeping them out, I can get the shields back up. Stew, bridge.”

  He strode past Elissa to the door.

  She had to stop herself from clutching for his sleeve. But she couldn’t stop herself from speaking, taking the attention she knew he couldn’t afford to give her. “Cadan—they’re not still talking to you?”

  He swept her with a glance as he went past. “They can’t. They’re locked out. Go to your cabin. If you hear the seat belt alarm—”

  “I know.”

  As he left the room, he cast a split-second grin back at her. “You did pay attention, then.” And then he was gone, Stewart moving quickly after him.

  Elissa forced herself to take a deep breath. Cadan’s in control. He knows what he’s doing; he won’t let anything happen. She turned to tell Lin that, and was just in time to see her scramble to her feet and over the bench, and then run out the door.

  Elissa hurried after her. If Lin was too panicked to find the cabin, and the seat belt alarm sounded when she wasn’t near any safety harnesses—

  But Lin was making no effort to follow the signs to their cabin. She was running along the corridor where Cadan and Stewart had disappeared, the one leading up to the flight deck.

  “Lin! That’s the wrong way.”

  Lin neither answered nor looked back. Elissa picked up her own pace to catch up. “Lin! We have to get to our cabin. You heard what Cadan said.”

  “I have to hear. They’ll talk to him. They’ll tell him—”

  “Lin, they won’t. He’s locked them out. You heard him.”

  But Lin didn’t respond. She was beyond panic, no longer able to think halfway reasonably, not even able to hear what Elissa was trying to tell her. The memory of what had happened last time Lin was this frightened swept over Elissa. She tried again—“Lin, we have to get to our cabin in case we need seat belts”—but it was no use.

  Cadan had told them to go to their cabin, and Elissa still could. But she couldn’t let Lin go to the bridge alone, not like this. Last time, in the mall—if she’d been running away by herself, if I hadn’t been there to stop her, how far would she have
gone?

  Elissa dragged in a lungful of processed air and concentrated on keeping up with her twin, following her up and around the central staircase to the door that opened, as it had that morning, above their heads.

  They erupted, out of breath, onto the flight deck. Lin made straight for the steps, stopping only when she reached the half-visible barrier. She stopped, hands spread against the glass like a toddler at a window, chest heaving for breath.

  Across the bridge, at the controls, Cadan threw a glance over his shoulder. “What the hell? Lissa, what are you—”

  Elissa had come up the steps behind her twin. She spread her hands. “I’m sorry, she panicked. I couldn’t—”

  Cadan’s eyes swept over Lin. “Okay. I see.” He frowned for a second, his eyes distant, then refocused on her. He punched a button, and the barrier slid back to let them in. “Just keep her quiet, all right? And for God’s sake, Lissa, get yourselves belted in.”

  “Okay.” There were safety harnesses all along the rail that ran behind him. Elissa fumbled with one, trying to work out the straps. “Lin, here, this is how they work.” But when she looked up, Lin was already clicking the buckles into place, the smart-straps drawing close around her body to hold her against the rail. Her eyes were still huge and panicked. Elissa wouldn’t have thought she could work out a normal safety belt in her state, let alone the intricacies of the SFI-installed five-point harnesses.

  She got her own harness fastened and felt it tighten, pulling against her shoulders, waist, and crotch, clamping her against the cushioned edge of the safety rail.