by Rachel Caine
“Now?” Bea drew herself up—even though she feared performing in public, pure determination shone in her eyes.
“Healer details first,” Chao-Xing said.
Blobby flipped an appendage, which I first thought was an impatient gesture, but something emerged from the fluid and extruded a crystal that fit into the info boards. We all looked at each other.
Marko plucked the jutting shard out of Blobby’s essence. “Great,” he said, and wiped his fingers on his pants. “Thank you.”
Blobby’s spikes rippled out again, then back in, as it activated a glowing red field around its booth. “Sing. Now.”
Bea started with a quiet scale, working up to it. Blobby went still, listening, and its skin vibrated in ripples as she grew louder. It didn’t have eyes, or expressions, but I had the feeling it was impressed . . . and she hadn’t even really started yet.
I was curious, so I stepped back until I was outside of the carmine field.
Bea’s voice cut off completely, though I could see her lips moving. The red suppression field not only prevented recording but made sure crowds weren’t getting the show for free. Interesting.
The red bubble was clearly the signal that something exciting was going on, because all around us, shapes started heading our way. Lizards, Lumpyheads, a few Blobbies, a couple of those delicate, beautiful Jellies. More I didn’t recognize, wearing armor that was so blocky, anything could have been in there.
I pushed back through the field—there was mild resistance—and Bea’s beautiful, clear voice launched into one of her favorite Elza Soares songs, “Mas Que Nada.” Starcurrent’s tentacles swayed in samba rhythm and pulsed with bioluminescence like Bea had brought zim as her own light show. Nice.
“I think eight was low,” Chao-Xing said.
I was thinking the same thing, but it was a start.
We headed over to the info terminal, and Marko slid the crystal into the slot.
It didn’t work. “Try cleaning it off first,” Chao-Xing said.
“I wish you hadn’t reminded me where it came from,” he said, but he scrubbed the crystal against his uniform until it shone, then tried it again.
This time, it lit up a sublevel—the Pit level—and a small tunnel off to the side of the main area. That didn’t look like a promising place to find a healer, unless the doctor specialized in gladiatorial injuries. But it was the only lead we had. At worst, we could check if we were registered for the next bout in the Pit.
Marko said, “Interesting. We found about a third of what we needed and had it delivered back to the shuttle. We only went up the first two levels, though. Things get more expensive the higher up you go. How’d you two do?”
“We made some new friends,” Chao-Xing answered. “A consortium of Bruqvisz.”
“Like the bank?”
I nodded. “They loaned us the fita to get treatments for the Leviathan. Now we have to earn it back.”
Marko narrowed his eyes, radiating dubious curiosity. I didn’t blame him. “How?”
“We’ll show you,” I said. “Let’s go.”
As we turned to go, the information booth spoke. “Would you like to load a VA to help you navigate the Sliver?” the terminal asked. It had a strange voice, just one tone away from being terrifying. Maybe some species found it soothing, but it raised my pulse level like a crim with a knife.
“Uh, I don’t know? Do we want one of those?” I asked the other two.
Nadim said, “I believe that stands for virtual assistant. Partition your H2 before you accept any data transfers. We can’t risk a security breach.”
“I’ll pass,” Chao-Xing said. “But one of us should take the chance.”
Risk-taking was my thing, I immediately got that, so I set up my handheld and got the shiny gold flash of a completed task. Now I was ready. To the terminal, I said, “Please install virtual assistant.”
My H2 started vibrating, which was both cool and alarming, and when the transfer completed, I had a swirl of light dancing over my handheld. “Ready to assist.”
A talking sunbeam—why not? I could probably ask it what I wanted to know, so I tried various phrases, until I hit on “help adapting to habitat.” That one triggered a data stream so detailed that I had to pull back the info and pause to get the gist.
I turned to Chao-Xing. “Looks like we can pay for an injection that will let us go suit-free, nanobots that regulate our physical needs from the inside out. Expensive, and doesn’t last forever, though, so we’ll need regular boosters. Thoughts?”
I was already on board. Fighting in the skinsuit didn’t seem too practical. If the enemy damaged our helmets, we wouldn’t be able to see, hear, or breathe. Not the way to earn fita and victory in the Pit.
C-X tapped the side of her helmet and I figured she was probably tired of the weird insect vision the helmet created. It didn’t make me dizzy or disoriented, but it was still strange to have images beamed to my brain at 360 degrees; safer, sure, but over time, I suspected it would give me a migraine. I was in no way eager to return to those days.
“How expensive?”
I read off the price, within our reach with the songs we’d already sold. “I think it’s worthwhile. The suits will limit what kind of moves we can do.”
Nadim didn’t seem sanguine, though, with an endearing blend of concern and caution. “Are you sure about this, Zara? This is an invasive procedure with unknown alien protocol. I don’t have any records of the Sliver or this nanotech if anything goes wrong.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said.
Probably.
If they could map our brains and figure out our language, it made sense they could do the same for our physiology. Theoretically, anyway.
“Zara . . .”
“Before we get injected, I’ll analyze it with the H2. You see anything wrong, you sound the alarm. Okay?”
“I don’t understand why you risk yourself so easily.”
“That’s okay. I don’t understand Leviathan stuff too well sometimes, either.” Except in those perfect moments where we were Zadim, and I could hear the starsong, drink their light. I understood more than I wanted to admit, and . . . so did he, most likely.
Chao-Xing glanced between me and my shoulder unit, and she smirked a bit. “You two done? If so, let’s get Yusuf’s meds.”
Marko had the hang of the grav well already, so there was no need for training; we all jumped into the downdraft and went to the Pit level. Bottom floor, lowest social standing for anyone living or working down here. Up ahead, the info board glowed, and when we checked it, sure enough, the Bruqvisz had entered a sponsorship with a new team.
They’d called it JongShowJing and Zeerakull, of course. I asked my new VA about our schedule. “You have twenty hours to report. Failure to appear results in team forfeit.”
“Noted,” I said. “Set the clock for me, all right?”
“Done. Anything else?”
“Take us to the doctor.”
The VA led us down a maze of rusty, chancy corridors, to a door that looked like it could withstand sustained weapons fire. I didn’t see any doorbell, or even a viewscreen. Chao-Xing stepped up and delivered an authoritative knock that echoed on the metal.
The door made a horrible screeching sound, like she’d hurt it. “Hey!” I covered my ears, and so did Marko; Chao-Xing clenched her teeth and knocked again.
The horrible screeching shut off, and after a delay, the door swung open on a dim room with a reclining medical chair that looked the opposite of reassuring, and a gaunt, cadaverous, human form shuffled out of the shadows.
It took me a second to even realize that much, because he had hair grown down to his shoulders in a ratty mess, a beard to match, and he was wearing a shapeless mass of gray fabric that I supposed might have doubled as a medical smock. Under the hair, the skin that showed had a sickly tinge, but he looked pretty white by nature too.
He seemed as shocked to see us as we were to see him . . . and then his
milky gray eyes filled with tears.
“Oh my God,” he said in English, and reached out a trembling hand toward us, but didn’t touch. “Oh my God. You’re . . . from . . .” He staggered backward, hit a gritty wall, and slid down to a limp collapse. He covered his face with shaking hands. They, at least, were clean. “No. No, can’t be true. Can’t be.”
“Hey.” Marko stepped forward and crouched next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we’re real. I’m Marko. And you are?”
The old man gulped and coughed and swiped at his eyes and stared at us like we were angels fallen from heaven. “Henri,” he said. “Henri Justineau.” His gaze roved from one of us to the next, and I could see he was about to lose it again.
His name rang a distant bell, and I used that to keep him on track. “You’re from Earth. You were an Honor,” I said. “Right?”
He looked at me, and I saw more tears well up. “Once. Once, I was. Not anymore.”
“Where’s your Leviathan?” Chao-Xing asked.
“Dead,” he whispered. “Torn apart. I survived. The Bruqvisz saved me. Took me out of a lifepod long ago and brought me here. I never thought . . . never expected . . .”
“To see humans again?” Marko finished, and patted him awkwardly. “Well, here we are. Honors from Earth. We’re happy to meet you, Honor Justineau.”
I admit it, I had a little tight spot at the back of my throat, and I cleared it with a cough. “How long you been here?”
“Here?” Justineau looked around as if he didn’t quite remember where he was. Shock, probably. “I—time is different here. Many, many years.”
Chao-Xing had been checking her H2. In a low voice, she said, “Henri Justineau went on the Journey almost forty years ago. He was twenty-two when he left Earth.”
Forty years, scraping out a living among strangers, so far from anything he’d ever known. Alone. I understood his shock now. And his shaking. The fact he’d survived the death of his Leviathan was amazing, but somehow making it this far? Even more impressive. I thought I was a survivor, but I didn’t know if I’d have those guts. Or that luck.
Justineau did some deep breathing, and then accepted Marko’s offer of a hand to help him back to his feet. He attempted to push his hair back, but it sprang back out in a wild rebellion until he rummaged around and found something to tie it back. “Well. This is quite a day. I’m . . . I’m thrilled to meet you, and I’m sure you understand what an understatement that is. But from the looks on your faces, you didn’t come here expecting to find me, either. So why are you here? To rescue me?”
We all glanced at each other, and since neither of the other two opened their mouths, I said, “Sure . . . ?” I drew it out and made it a bit of a question. “If you want to leave, that is.”
Justineau let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, no, how could I resist all this luxury?”
Chao-Xing didn’t let that go on long. “We came because we heard you had an effective treatment for this disease.” She pulled the notation up on her H2 and handed it over. He took it and gazed at the thing like it was a wonder—I guessed it was, seeing human tech again—and then focused on what was being displayed.
“Oh,” he said. “Yes. One of you?”
“No. A survivor we rescued earlier. He’s sick.”
“Very sick, if he didn’t have his meds,” Justineau said. “Yes. I do have what you need, but I warn you, it’s costly. Sliver regulations require me to charge datamynt and fita for extraordinary treatments, and this qualifies.”
Of course. I saw C-X square her shoulders. “How much, exactly?”
“That depends on the stage of his disease. I’d need more information to calculate dosages and strength. But in the vicinity of one million datamynt, and ten thousand in fita for enough medication to see your colleague through the worst of the disease. If it’s kept at bay for five years, the parasitic fungus that’s colonized him will die and be flushed away from his system. Do you know how long he’s been ill?”
Nadim said in my ear, “EMITU is sending the data to your H2.” I looked down and checked, and then handed it off to Dr. Justineau.
He reviewed it quickly, and nodded. “Yes. He’s in the middle stages. You’ll need enough to see him through another two years. I can do that.”
“For a million datamynt and ten thousand fita,” Chao-Xing said.
He gave me my H2 back. “Regretfully, that is the price.”
“Even if we’re willing to give you passage off this rock.”
“I don’t set prices,” Justineau said. “Bacia Annont sets prices. And Bacia Annont can kill me if I don’t comply. You can’t protect me.”
Probably not.
“Huddle,” I said, and the three of us stepped away and put our heads together. “So . . . do we actually have a million datamynt?”
“We do,” Marko said. “But not a lot more.”
“Enough to take care of the rest of our supplies?”
“No,” Chao-Xing said. “Not to mention that we don’t have ten thousand fita. What we were loaned went straight to the purchase of the starlight treatments for the ships.”
“So . . . ?”
Chao-Xing sighed and stepped out of the huddle. She turned to Henri Justineau. “Datamynt now,” she said. “We’ll pay you the fita after we win our first bout. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” he said. “Upon transfer of the datamynt, I can release the medication to you. I’ll need to record the agreement to station data. If anything goes wrong and you don’t fulfill on the fita within one standard week . . . there are penalties. Harsh ones. And you’ll have to turn over the remaining medication.”
Chao-Xing didn’t poll us for opinions. She just nodded.
As Justineau slid back a thin curtain to show what must have been a station records access terminal, I looked at Marko. “You okay with this?” I asked him.
“Saving Yusuf’s life? Obviously.”
“That’s a given. I mean, with Chao-Xing being in charge.”
He sent me a strangely amused look. “Ask yourself that question, Zara.”
After reading the terms, which were just as the doctor had stated, Chao-Xing signed the screen in agreement and Justineau dispatched a drone to deliver the treatment to Yusuf and EMITU. I wished I could deliver the meds personally and spend some time with Nadim, but if I didn’t report to the Pit with Chao-Xing, we’d have some pissed off lizards demanding fita forfeits from our hides.
That fast, we were in debt to the station for ten thousand fita, more to the Bruqvizs, and I had a feeling we might soon drop from the frying pan into the fire.
Justineau, it turned out, couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give us the shots to acclimate us to station atmosphere. Instead, he sent us to another doctor. We rode the slipstream again, all the way up to Tier Fifteen, posh as hell, white and chrome, nothing you’d guess existed from the shabby station exterior. I’d visited a few apartments like that in the Zone, all broken cement block and graffiti outside, but when you stepped inside, it was fresh paint and shiny floors, beautiful antique family pics in silver frames. Usually, those were historic families who’d had the chance to move to Paradise but had such deep roots in Old Detroit that they couldn’t be dislodged with a backhoe.
I called up my virtual assistant. “Which way to the clinic?” Or whatever you called a place where they gave injections that would let your body survive on the wrong ratio of breathable gases.
The light swirl gave excellent directions, chipper as you please, and I led the way to a neat shop that was run by one of the species I referred to as Jellies. They seemed to communicate entirely by bioluminescence, which was weird but cool. My new VA was all over it, providing vocal translation services.
“The doctor welcomes you and asks what procedure you require.”
“Nanobots that let us breathe and walk around without suits,” I said.
My H2 flashed a sequence of lights, so quick and complex that I thought I might have a seizure. Some small part of me couldn’t
believe I’d maintained my calm for this long; I was surrounded by entirely new sights, sounds, stars, and I really wanted to retreat to Nadim and just curl up on the floor and feel him. This separation wasn’t great for either of us. Adrenaline would only take me so far. The higher I got in the tiers, the closer I thought I’d be to him, but instead our bond felt frayed and fragile.
More back and forth between the VA and the Jelly-doc. God, when I thought about trying to describe this scene for my old crew in the Zone . . . I nearly snorted a laugh. I couldn’t have described half of what had happened to me since I left rehab.
Finally, they settled the price, and I authorized the datamynt transfer from our thinning supply of cash. Not like I could haggle in this situation.
Chao-Xing flourished a hand. “This was your idea; you go first.”
“Gonna wait five minutes, make sure I don’t die in a puddle of blood?”
She arched an eyebrow and didn’t answer that, which I assumed meant she was doing exactly that. Marko made a be my guest motion.
“This is not amusing, Zara.” Nadim sounded anxious.
“I’m kidding.” Mostly.
I took my helmet off and held my breath when the VA told me to and felt a hiss and pressure at the back of my neck—and when I turned to look, I saw a translucent cable disappearing back into the ceiling. The Jelly-doc hadn’t moved, except to wave tendrils with slightly more speed. It flashed lights again. The VA said, “Injection complete. You may experience some light discomfort. Please report any significant pain, failure to breathe, contraction of limbs, dissolution of organs, or more serious side effects.”
Oh, damn, it was like our EMITU on board Nadim, only without the fun side, because I was pretty sure the Jelly-doc meant all that literally.
I said, “That’s really not funny—”
That was all I got out before the convulsions hit me.
FROM THE UNOFFICIAL PUBLICATION A GUIDE TO THE SLIVER