The ship stood silently in the dock with a stoic grace not shared by her neighbours, and Layela almost expected to see an anchor falling from her hull. But, although illusions of complex shapes had been worked into the metal, giving it a unique beauty, the Destiny was still only a metal ship that travelled the vast coldness of space.
One that had seen more than its share of battles.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Ardin whispered from up front, smiling.
“She is,” Layela whispered, unable to say differently.
“It’s home,” Avienne said, with both affection and sadness in her voice.
“But could you imagine a more beautiful home?” Ardin said, as if to himself.
“I can,” Layela whispered, the explosion of Sunrise Flowers still ringing in her mind.
“Urgh. I can’t believe I’m back here,” Lang moaned. “Can’t you drop me off now?”
Ardin accelerated and veered, much to the delight of his sister, who cheered. The shuttle swerved by the Destiny, all light blocked by the tall ship, only its metal hull visible by Avienne’s side.
Another moan escaped Lang as Ardin jerked on the controls and turned hard towards the ship, Layela gasped as the metal hull opening just in time to grant them access and reveal a poorly lit docking bay.
“Hope you don’t chill easily,” Avienne said as she opened the hatch, a cold breeze immediately infiltrating every corner of the shuttle. Lang exited next, Ardin helping Josmere and Layela exit the cramped quarters.
Avienne yawned expansively and stretched, smiling as a male voice boomed over the speakers.
“Welcome home, sailors.”
“Let’s go,” Ardin said, walking toward the bay doors. Lang muttered, but followed nonetheless.
“You two head to the bridge, and I’ll take our guests to their quarters.” Avienne called back and Ardin’s walk stiffened.
Josmere and Layela exchanged a glance, both having noticed the change in Ardin’s pace. Avienne did not miss their exchange.
“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you,” she sighed. “I am going to lock you up, but that’s simply because we know nothing about you and this ship has its own secrets. But don’t worry,” she added with a grin, “I’ll make sure you have plenty of blankets.”
“You expect us to trust you?” Layela asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No. I expect you to be smart enough to know when to quietly follow and wait. You needed to get off the planet and, well, we’re getting off the planet. Now come on. I have to get to the bridge too, in case they need me.” Her hand dropped to her gun as she motioned for them to start walking.
“Let me guess,” Josmere said dryly. “Tactical control?”
Avienne grinned but didn’t answer as they passed through a metal door, the light of the docking bay shutting off as they exited. The corridor that now stretched before them was even more poorly lit. She passed in front of them, her hand no longer on the gun. Instead she flipped a knife, throwing and catching the blade in lazy sweeps with barely a glance.
“Hope you don’t mind climbing,” she said. The knife vanished and she opened a latch to reveal a ladder. She indicated to Josmere to climb first, and took the rungs next, leaving Layela little choice but to follow. The ladder reached up into the darkness of the hull, its length not fully illuminated, the metal rungs so cold they stung Layela’s bare flesh. Her arms and ribs protested each movement, the cuffs still hanging from her left wrist clanging on the metal as she climbed.
Thankfully, they only had to climb one level.
“Don’t you people have elevators?” Josmere asked as she helped Layela out of the shaft, Avienne flipped her knife once again, boredom etched on her ivory features. No wonder the Malavants were both in good shape, if they did this regularly!
“We do,” Avienne said as she nodded with her head towards another poorly lit corridor. “But that requires more power, so unless we have cargo, which we don’t at the moment, we climb.”
“Are you sure you don’t have cargo now?” Layela asked, gritting her teeth as she fought to hide the waves of pain from her ribs now washing over her, reducing the length of her breaths. The smuggler looked surprised for a moment before laughing heartily.
“I guess we do! Fine, next time we’ll take the elevator.” She punched a number into a nearby keypad, shielding the code with her body. Her gun was now in her hand.
“In the meantime, if you ladies will make yourselves comfortable, we’ll see to your needs in a few hours.” She motioned grandly towards the simple room with two beds, plenty of blankets as promised, and stark lighting.
“I’m asking nicely now,” Avienne said as her grin widened. Not a good thing with this woman, Layela had already decided.
“Aren’t you just the grateful one,” Josmere hissed as she walked past her into the room. Layela followed.
“I consider us even, actually.” The woman softened for an instant. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Someone cared enough to send help your way.”
With those words, the door closed and Layela took a deep, cold breath. She watched it steam out of her mouth, and wondered how safe they would be in the hands of these unsuccessful smugglers.
“I’m disappointed she escaped,” Dunkat said softly. The words had the desired impact on the Kilita, who reeled as though physically struck. The Berganda, a mercenary Dunkat fully realized he had precious little control over, shrugged where she sat, as relaxed as Aquilone was stiff.
“Your troops got in the way, Colonel,” the Berganda — Seela — said mildly. Dunkat was not fooled for one second by her silken tones and young looks. She was ruthless, he knew, which was only part of the reason he had sought her expertise. The fact that she was a Berganda willing to be contracted out was where her true advantage lay. A bloom above the rest.
“Those troops were adequately punished for their...zeal. Still, I expect two individuals with your vast talents could overcome such a small obstacle as a platoon.”
Aquilone seemed both elated and crushed. He cleared his throat.
“Permission to speak, sir,” Aquilone asked, still standing at perfect attention despite the obvious backhanded compliment he had received. Dunkat really liked the man’s discipline and pondered promoting him to second-in-command once this mission was accomplished. What a stir that would cause.
Noro would surely object.
“Permission granted,” Dunkat said with no decorum, which he knew the Kilita would respect.
“I touched the girl with my bare hands in the flower shop, sir. Directly on her skin.” The Berganda looked up, interested. “She passed out the first time, possibly due to... fatigue. But the second time, there seemed to be little reaction. She actually managed to fight me off.” He pondered a moment further, seeking the right words. “If she is what you suspect her to be, my skills would have incapacitated her.”
Dunkat felt his anger rising, all thoughts of promoting the man gone. He kept his exterior in check, but knew his dark eyes blazed as he looked deep into the Kilita’s.
It was her. Layela Delamores. He was as certain of who she was as he was of what needed to be done. The Kilita race’s ethereal connection had simply weakened over the past twenty years, to the point of becoming useless. He wondered if the Berganda’s powers were still somewhat intact, or if she would prove useless as well.
He turned from the Kilita and looked at the Berganda.
“She travels with another Berganda. Do you know her?” Dunkat asked. Seela looked up with no interest in her eyes.
“Do you think I care?”
He fought back his impatience, remembering a time when these races were strong, revered and respected. Now, they were simply a nuisance, as lost and clueless as all the others.
“Can you track her?”
Seela nodded. “Easily.” As though an afterthought, she added, “It’s not like there are many of us left to track.”
Dunkat looked down at her, but the wistful tones of her voice were
not reflected in her cold eyes, and he knew she would betray even her own dwindling race for a pretty penny.
“I don’t care what you do with the Berganda, I just want the girl.” Dunkat remembered the deep blue eyes that refused to look away as he struck her. Another few days and he would have broken her, he knew it, and he was angry at the stolen chance.
“Dismissed,” he said, not meeting Aquilone’s eyes. Seela, unconcerned with military conduct, lazily followed her current partner out.
Whether they found them or not was of no concern. It would only shave off a few days from where he knew she would eventually go.
He had seen it reflected in her eyes: the great star of Mirial, Mother of all Ether.
10
Are you sure those are the coordinates?” the captain asked, his face as unreadable as a blank page.
“Yes sir,” Ardin responded formally. Although Destiny answered to no one and the crew had spent the last twenty years together in this ship as family, Cailan still insisted that his crew remain professional and obedient. The only one who got away with some jesting was Avienne. She was the only woman on board and was like a daughter to the captain, so no one questioned it.
Cailan stroked his small, close-cut beard as he stared at the coordinates, and Ardin wondered what was wrong with them. They pointed to a small solar system three days’ tunnel ride from here: nothing irregular, some farmers and some industries. A bit like Collar, except that even smugglers weren’t drawn there.
Odd, really. He knew few places that didn’t benefit from — and welcome — the trades brought in by smugglers.
“Lang,” Cailan called to the navigator louder than necessary, and the man flinched. Ardin guessed that his head throbbed from his last binge, and it was satisfying to see that Cailan did not intend to make his day easy.
“Yes, sir?” Lang said as he walked to the captain’s side.
“Could you please confirm where these coordinates will bring us?”
Lang took the coordinates without argument and waddled off slowly to his station. In space, with the increasing failures of the tunnels combined with heightened space traffic — mostly of the unannounced, illegal kind — a good navigator was as necessary as oxygen to get the crew safely to port. Of course, that meant Ardin would have to continue getting Lang out of trouble. He wished Cailan would stop granting him leave, but suspected the captain liked the navigator and found Ardin’s rescue missions entertaining. He always demanded a full, excruciatingly detailed report.
“We’re talking about the small system of Longsley, with only one inhabited farming planet, named Lockor,” Lang reported. “About three days’ journey by the main tunnel artery. Hey, this one is actually maintained regularly by several local governments, too! I can have us cleared for access within minutes.”
Cailan didn’t nod, as if he already knew all that information.
Travan, the ship’s engineer, leaned by Cailan and whispered. The captain nodded.
“I don’t like it, but if this man will meet us there and pay up the other half, we’ll proceed.” Cailan paused and looked ahead. “Ardin, what can you tell me of him?”
“Tall, dark, somewhat mysterious, with a strong voice. Well-spoken, definitely middle to upper class, no discernable accent.”
Avienne walked up to the bridge, slightly winded by the long climb. “And dangerous,” she added to Ardin’s report. “No noticeable weapons, but from the way he stood you could see he was a seasoned warrior, and a dangerous one, at that.”
Ardin nodded in agreement. Avienne must have been tired from their adventure on Collar, not to make any crude comments about the man.
Cailan must have seen it, too. “Good work. You can both have the rest of the day off. Just make sure the girl knows where we’re taking her.”
“Girls,” Ardin replied, wincing a bit.
“Oh?” Cailan asked, his voice casual. He sat straighter in his seat, a gesture Ardin had long ago learned meant deep displeasure.
“A Berganda, sir,” Ardin continued. “She’s a friend of the girl, and would have perished had we not helped her.”
Not quite true, but close enough. Avienne did not add anything, and Ardin knew she wouldn’t unless it was to back him up. If he was certain of anything in life, it was that Avienne would always back him up.
“Just make sure they don’t wander about,” Cailan said wearily, dismissing them with a wave. Relieved, Ardin saluted and walked off, followed by Avienne.
“I just came up these bloody things,” his sister lamented as they entered the access tunnel and began the long descent.
“Lang,” Ardin heard Cailan say over Avienne’s soft swears below him. “Take us to Lockor.”
After a pause, Ardin swore he heard Cailan add quietly, “And pray we need not go any further.”
“Can’t you feel her?” Josmere asked impatiently as she paced the room, blankets trailing her. Josmere never did well during space travel, and cold, enclosed space travel was certainly no better. Her green eyes darted around like a caged animal’s.
Layela shook her head. “I haven’t been able to for a while. I just hadn’t really paid mind to it.” She met Josmere’s eyes. “It didn’t seem like a skill we’d need a lot, with our plans of not stealing for a living anymore.”
Josmere stopped pacing for a moment, about to say something, but apparently thought better of it and continued. Layela sighed. It was nice having a friend around, but it would be nicer if there were no secrets between them.
“Josmere, what do you know that you’re not telling me?”
Josmere slowed her pace but didn’t stop. She seemed hesitant, as if she was actually considering bringing Layela into her circle of confidence. Then she shook her head and increased her pace again. The closeness between them withered with each step.
She suddenly wondered why Josmere’s powers had not affected Ardin in the flower shop, and if that might be the reason she was so sullen. The Berganda had seemed as surprised as Ardin. She began to worry that something might be wrong with Josmere, aside from the usual stubbornness.
Layela had often heard stories of the powers of the ethereal races, how those powers had seemed to fade and wither over the last two decades. Of all the old ethereal races, the Berganda was one of the quickest to wither and, although Josmere never spoke of it, Layela knew it shadowed her friend’s thoughts. Once her powers began to fade, it might mean she too was withering.
Maybe a test was required to set the Berganda’s mind, and her own, at ease. It wasn’t like they could do much else on the ship, at least not without some sort of plan. Besides, Layela thought as she shifted and winced, a few hours of rest to let my wounds heal would be beneficial.
“Josmere,” Layela said, the Berganda slowing her pace again. “I keep having a strong, dark vision at night. Will you show it to me?”
Yoma was also gifted with visions, but hers struck when she was awake. Awkward and dangerous, but at least she could remember them. Layela’s visions only came at night, and until the day Yoma had accidentally met Josmere in a house they both intended to rob, Layela didn’t even think she shared the gift. She had doubted her own powers, despite jerking awake every night, fear smothering her thoughts and sweat clutching her body. The shouts of things-to-be would become whispers and vanish with the last threads of her sleep.
But the Bergandas were gifted telepaths. Theirs was a power that could destroy a mind, or simply unlock it, much like the Kilitas could. Josmere had unlocked Layela’s mind on several occasions, lifting the burden of heavy, unseen visions from the girl’s shoulders.
If Josmere used her powers now, she might find peace in the proof that her ability had not vanished. And Layela would see the vision that the Kilita had tried to rip from her mind. It involved Yoma, she knew, and she remembered the warm feeling on her hands. Like a thick liquid coating them, a liquid she was certain was blood. She thought it might be Yoma’s. She needed to know what the vision would show her, as badly — she gue
ssed — as Josmere needed to know if her powers still existed.
She was surprised when Josmere grimaced and sat down on the other bed, facing her. “I can’t, Layl.”
“Well, I know your powers didn’t work on Ardin, but maybe that was a fluke. Try it on me and see what happens.”
Josmere shifted and looked uncomfortable, but her green eyes met Layela’s. “I promised Yoma I wouldn’t unlock that vision for you.”
Layela jerked back a bit, Josmere’s words like a slap. She had thought the Berganda was just as loyal to her as to her sister. She had felt comforted by her presence. Yoma had made her promise not to tell! But that also meant… “Yoma left because of a vision she had.”
She didn’t ask, she simply stated. Josmere didn’t bother replying.
Before either one of them could continue the conversation, a knock came at the door. Seconds later it swung open, the Malavant siblings in its entryway. Avienne carried the promised food, which looked as old as the ship itself.
“It’s not the best — in fact, it’s much closer to being the worst — but it’s still food,” Avienne said as she handed them the meal packs. The freeze-dried foods were packaged in aluminium for preservation. Usually about as tasty as aluminium, too.
“We just came to tell you we’re headed for Lockor,” Ardin said.
“Where in the forty bloody Solarian suns is that?” Layela asked. Their interruption had come at a bad time, and the sooner they left, the sooner she could throttle some information out of her green friend. She forced a deep breath into her lungs and examined the opened door latch out of the corner of her eye. It wouldn’t hurt to be ready to leave.
“Not in that jurisdiction, actually,” Ardin said. He was trying to sound casual, but tension laced his words. “It’s almost a galaxy away but, thankfully, is linked by tunnels from three other independently-governed worlds. It should only take us three days to get there, if the traffic is as thin as our navigator expects it to be.”
He finished lightly, as though this was a simple matter.
Destiny's Blood (The First Star Book 1) Page 9