The Vela: The Complete Season 1

by Yoon Ha Lee, Becky Chambers, SL Huang

  “I wasn’t asking you,” the sentry snapped.

  The tattooed sentry was rougher with Niko than with Asala. Asala couldn’t tell whether this was because Niko had annoyed her or due to some kind of misguided “clanners have to stick together” courtesy. If the latter, Asala might be able to take advantage of the sentiment, assuming an opening offered itself.

  “Clear,” the tattooed sentry said at last, sounding disappointed. “Take them in.”

  “I’ll make it up to you later,” the leader said, and winked. That took Asala by surprise, although it shouldn’t have. Presumably these people all knew each other and had developed relationships, especially in the confines of the camp. Just because Asala had preferred to keep to herself when she’d served as a soldier didn’t mean everyone else did the same.

  The command deck brought another surprise: luxury. Or the Camp Ghala version of it, anyway. Soraya’s cramped quarters had been rich with handicrafts and gifts: stoles knitted from recycled clothes, rugs made of knotted rags, artwork improvised from shorted-out computer chips and frayed wires. Tribute to the work Soraya did, and the people who relied on her.

  This—this was different. Asala saw Niko’s eyes narrow as they took in the carefully aligned paintings on the walls, treasures that refugees must have smuggled out even though they’d been warned, warned, that every ounce of weight made a difference, that the ships could only afford to bring people and food and the barest essentials. Asala’s own gaze was drawn unwillingly to a table that looked as though it was carved from Samosi ice-wood, and gilded besides, an unspeakable treasure considering that Samos, the outermost planet in the system, had died decades ago.

  Besides that, there were shelves of more utilitarian material, sturdy plastics and metal, containing printed books, a rarity. Asala had sometimes woken from dreams in which she bent over a handwritten volume of her sister’s verses. But no such thing existed. Asala herself had never committed those words to paper. And the six volumes her sister had given her for her birthday—those were long gone.

  More sentries guarded the passageways. How many people were in Hafiz’s private army? The fact that they didn’t wear any kind of uniform suggested that they must all recognize each other by sight, or else there was some identifying mark that Asala hadn’t yet been able to pick out. She’d compare notes with Niko later, if they survived this.

  Finally, they reached what would have been the captain’s quarters. This room, too, displayed that extravagant taste for luxury. Plaques engraved with verses in a language Asala couldn’t read were hung over the door.

  The crown of the collection had pride of place to the left of the door, a magnificent ink painting on Samosi silk, no longer produced since the planet’s death. Flowing brushstrokes depicted a wolf accompanied by the spirits of the winter winds. Several strategically placed lights illuminated the painting, more evidence of the regard in which it was held, given power rationing in Camp Ghala.

  The procession of luxuries bothered Asala to the point of offense, especially after she’d witnessed the privations suffered by the other refugees at Camp Ghala. Certainly it brought back unwelcome memories of the lean years she’d endured during her own escape, not to mention her early adulthood on Khayyam, when she’d scraped by on her soldier’s stipend. She told herself it was none of her business.

  The leader of the guards accompanying them knocked on the door in a complex rhythm. Asala’s ears pricked at the code, and she did her best to memorize it.

  A mellow voice responded: “Bring them in.”

  “I advise your best behavior around Hafiz,” the lead guard hissed to Asala and Niko. “At least if you want them to take you seriously.”

  Asala suppressed a scoff. Niko bobbed their head. Well, good that one of them could be diplomatic. And what did she mean, “take you seriously”? Getting caught breaking into what ought to be a high-security area didn’t count as “serious” enough?

  The door opened from within. Asala took in the surroundings.

  A woman stood to the side of the door, no better and no worse dressed than any of the guards on the freighter. Asala guessed she was an attendant. She carried no obvious weapons, which made Asala scowl. An open threat would have made her feel better. Oddly, the woman sported a cybernetic eye, unusual not just because such mods were uncommon but also because the eye lacked a power source; the golden lens had no inner light. A curious anomaly, considering Hafiz’s resources.

  The room itself displayed surprisingly spartan decor, given the luxury of the rest of the command deck. A tidy bed rested against the far wall, along with a small industrial-style desk of metal and two small cabinets, equally utilitarian in appearance. Again, no weapons in sight, although Asala couldn’t discount the possibility that some nasty security system was hidden by the ordinary furniture, or lurking in the walls. Given the ingenuity she’d seen in the camp, she wouldn’t put it past Hafiz, or their hangers-on, to have made some modifications to the ship.

  At its center, like a jewel spider at the heart of a web, sat Hafiz. They had a luxuriant head of hair, only partly tamed by braids, and alert, wide-set dark eyes above a beaky nose, not atypical for certain strains of outerworlders; an older-model dataslate rested in their hands. Asala’s instincts prickled in response to Hafiz’s gaze, though they were smiling with every sign of great good humor. Hafiz might be sitting in a wheelchair, with clothing that exposed a right leg that ended just below the knee, but given their accomplishments, Asala couldn’t afford to underestimate her opponent even in a physical confrontation. Asala had known injured veterans who’d adapted well to wheelchair life and who she would be very cautious around in a fight, especially on their home ground.

  The guard who’d brought them in signed to Hafiz with one hand. Hafiz replied in kind, and the guard let herself out. The attendant remained by the door, watching both Asala and Niko narrowly.

  “You have something of mine,” Hafiz said, still smiling. “I’m going to tell you a story, and then you’ll want to work with me.”

  Niko’s face was so expressively open that if Asala hadn’t known better, she would have believed their innocence. “You haven’t asked who we are.”

  Hafiz shrugged. “You’re welcome to introduce yourself if it would make you feel better, but I know your names, and you know mine. Certainly I know a great deal about you, Niko, through your contacts with people throughout the camp, not least Soraya, as well as various aid organizations. We can either spend time on social niceties, or we can get down to business. Which would you prefer?”

  Niko’s mouth compressed. The motion was subtle, but by now Asala had spent enough time with them to recognize their sudden caution. Given Niko’s usual self-confidence when talking to complete strangers, that was . . . concerning.

  “We’ll do it your way,” Asala said. “But I need answers.” Best to counterattack, take control of the conversation if Niko wasn’t going to. “Not just about the Vela, but about what we found there.” Her gaze flicked to the woman with the cube.

  Hafiz’s smile didn’t fade; if anything, they seemed even more amused by the whole affair. “I’m happy to tell you what you want to know. I’ll start with what you’ve already no doubt figured out: that the Vela was sabotaged not because of infighting among the refugees it carried, but because it carried a secret—one that its people didn’t want reaching Khayyam. That secret, of course, is the cube you located.”

  “The cube?” Niko repeated, wide-eyed and encouraging, a trick that Asala had also become familiar with. For her part, she disliked the fact that Hafiz was so willing to divulge information when they had her and Niko at a disadvantage. She couldn’t imagine that the reason was stupidity. What did Hafiz stand to gain?

  I’m going to tell you a story, and then you’ll want to work with me, Hafiz had said, with the ease of assurance. Must be one hell of a story.

  “You had a good chance to look at it, didn’t you? Black matter that won’t stop moving?”

  Asala
nodded, if only to keep them talking. “I need to know what it is.”

  Hafiz’s smile broadened as though Asala had sprung a trap.

  What the hell did I say wrong? Asala tensed in spite of herself. Should she have let Niko continue to do the talking after all? Her demand hadn’t been unreasonable, or even particularly unusual. So then what—

  Hafiz had noted her confusion and paused to allow her to process it. She didn’t like that, either. When Asala had smoothed her expression, Hafiz went on, “The device you liberated”—their voice lifted conspiratorially on the word—“is a working stardrive prototype.”

  “Can’t be much of a prototype,” Niko quipped, “if it works exactly the same as existing stardrives.”

  “What, you were fooled by the footage that Khayyam aired of the Vela’s progress?” Hafiz brought up the slate and flicked on a video clip. A tinny voice described the Vela’s ostensible path toward Khayyam as the camera panned over a diagram showing its trajectory, followed by a convincingly staticky image of the Vela’s hull. “You disappoint me.”

  “I’m not talking about the faked vids,” Niko said, refusing to rise to the bait. “It wasn’t hard to backtrace the time and location stamps in Uzochi’s communiqués. She may be a brilliant scientist, but security isn’t her specialty. She didn’t think to scrub location data out of her transmissions. Even if the Vela got diverted, it didn’t get here any faster than it should have.”

  “Of course not. It would have given away the game to your father’s rivals. Do you think he’d want to broadcast possession of the prototype? No, he needed everything to appear normal. It would have worked if the refugees hadn’t figured out his true intent, which had nothing to do with their salvation.”

  Niko frowned. “I know he cares about his ratings in the polls, but that isn’t any reason to—”

  Hafiz’s genial air evaporated; the next words came out like a whip-crack. “Your father’s purpose in sending your little ‘rescue mission’ in the first place wasn’t concern for the refugees. Or if it was, that wasn’t his primary motive. Certainly he sent a pitiably small ship for the task. But then, you’d know that your father is more . . . complicated than he likes to tell people, wouldn’t you?”

  The hit failed to land, or at least, Niko gave no sign that it bothered them; of course, Asala reflected, they’d been fending off jibes about the benefits of Ekrem’s benevolent nepotism all their life. “You’re accusing President Ekrem of what, exactly?” Asala asked.

  “He wanted control of the stardrive,” Hafiz said bluntly. “I have some idea of who betrayed Uzochi and Vanja Ryouta to him. One of Vanja’s lab assistants, who hoped to live out the rest of their days in luxury in exchange for the secret. Of course the Vela didn’t dare use the stardrive prototype to show up at Khayyam. That would have been too much of a giveaway.”

  “All right,” Asala said, unable to contain herself. “What exactly does this stardrive do, if it’s so wonderful? What’s the big deal?”

  “Our system is doomed,” Hafiz said. “The wolf will eat the sun, just like in the old stories.” Asala was reminded of the ink painting of the wolf and the winter spirits. “The only survivors a century hence will be the ones who left entirely. Fleeing for the inner worlds”—their mouth twisted—“just delays the inevitable.”

  The inevitable. The sacrifices her clan-mates had made to send her to safety on Khayyam, the loneliness and suffering she had endured, waved away as just so much nothing. Asala took long, deep breaths, reminding herself that they were on Hafiz’s turf, and she couldn’t afford to alienate them until she found out more. From the anxious glance that Niko was slanting in her direction, they weren’t entirely confident in her self-control.

  Hafiz’s smile returned, but this time it had a predatory air. “You want to know what it does, little soldier? The prototype works by opening a wormhole. It will let you jump directly to another star system.”

  “That’s impos—” The color drained from Niko’s face. “Of course. Vanja and Uzochi specialized in handling exotic matter. If anyone could have found a way to refine and contain enough of it for this, it would be them.”

  In academy, Asala had learned the practical physics and engineering that you needed to handle a starship. While she was no scientist, she’d heard of wormholes. Heard of them, and dismissed them as irrelevant to her. Wormholes were what you found in kids’ adventure comics, where they allowed people to zap themselves into strange alternate dimensions, possibly with bonus superpowers. They weren’t real, not in any useful sense of the word. Oh, laboratories sometimes attempted to work with them, and occasionally a scientist would give a talk about how they could open up interstellar travel in heretofore unknown ways, but that didn’t have anything to do with Asala’s existence.

  Except. Vanja and Uzochi could have pulled it off. Even Asala knew of their lab’s reputation. And she couldn’t deny the physical evidence of the prototype wriggling in the pouch at her hip. True, she didn’t know that it did what Hafiz said it did—but neither did she have any assurance that it didn’t. The claim was plausible. And then, too, there was the circumstantial evidence—the cover-up when the Vela didn’t arrive, President Ekrem’s strange urgency about their mission. Sure, he cared a lot about his political career. But it wasn’t just his career on the line, was it? It was his personal survival, and that of the people closest to him.

  A wormhole. A way to travel out-system in an instant, and find new worlds, healthy new suns. Such technology would allow humanity to explore the stars with ease. There would be plenty of space for everyone. No one would ever have to freeze, or die in a camp for want of somewhere to go.

  “You see,” Hafiz said, drawing Asala’s attention again. “Once President Ekrem learned of the prototype’s existence, he decided that the soft, comfortable elites on Khayyam would escape and leave the rest of us behind. But the reason Uzochi didn’t employ it to flee earlier is that she understood, as Ekrem does not, that one refugee ship is not much of a basis with which to rebuild civilization on another world. We need an entire fleet of ships, all equipped with their own wormhole generators.”

  Hafiz’s use of “we” didn’t escape Asala.

  “But you know what happened next, don’t you?” Hafiz gestured toward them both. “Uzochi discovered what President Ekrem truly intended. The fact that he sent his strongmen to secure the tech tipped her off and drove her to sabotage. Now that we know the Vela’s secret, and the blueprints for the prototype, Camp Ghala will be able to work toward escape—a real escape, not the second-class lifestyle that Gan-De deigns to offer anyone who actually makes it onto the surface. Assuming, of course, the fortress world and its robots don’t simply shoot us down like vermin.”

  “It’s plausible,” Niko said, surprisingly calm. “But what are you getting out of telling us this?”

  Hafiz turned then to Asala and fixed her with their stare. “You have some questions to ask yourself, Asala. Your president has lied to you. You should be wondering why he insisted on sending his own child to accompany you—skilled enough in their field, granted”—and Hafiz nodded with curious, old-fashioned courtesy at Niko—“but inexperienced nonetheless. Why not send one of his veteran—”

  Hafiz’s needling had finally gotten under Niko’s skin. “I’m perfectly aware that my father is a politician and makes a politician’s compromises,” they said, speaking too rapidly, “but if you think that I’m somehow implicated in—”

  Asala yanked on Niko’s shoulder. “Niko, stop.”

  “Implicated in what?” Hafiz cut in.

  Niko looked at Asala. “Whatever my father has cooked up, I’m not involved in it, I swear.”

  They’d traveled together, learned to work as partners. She wanted to believe them.

  As much as the thought of being betrayed by Niko made her gut hurt—not just because of Niko themself, but because of their father, whom she’d trusted—Asala also knew the importance of showing a united front before an adversary. Make n
o mistake, Hafiz was exactly that. She wasn’t under any illusions that Hafiz was feeding them this information for anything but self-interested reasons.

  “I have an alternative to President Ekrem’s scheme,” Hafiz said. “I plan to use this stardrive to allow Camp Ghala’s inhabitants to find a new beginning elsewhere. Uzochi has been busy identifying systems with planets that look conducive to human settlement. It’s the chance we need.”

  Hafiz leaned back, self-confident. “I’m sorry to cast a shadow on you, Niko, but you don’t deserve to be held back by your father’s crimes. I would value your assistance in guaranteeing a future for Camp Ghala.”

  Niko’s gaze flickered to Asala, then back to Hafiz. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” they said, not yet mollified.

  “The inner planets don’t deserve this escape,” Hafiz said, still in that quiet voice.

  Belatedly, Asala recognized that Hafiz was angry. In her clan they’d said that some people burned hot when they got mad, and others burned cold. Hafiz must be one of the latter.

  “To my knowledge,” Hafiz continued, “President Ekrem had no intention of bringing the denizens of Khayyam with him, let alone the inhabitants of the outer worlds or the refugees of Camp Ghala. He and his cronies were going to fly the coop alone.” Hafiz pointed with rude directness at Asala’s clan tattoos. She stiffened in spite of herself. “Do you have any guarantee that he’d take you with him, Asala? You may be useful to him, but you’ll always be a pattie.”

  The deliberate slur didn’t shock her, but she couldn’t help the cold stab of fear. Ekrem wouldn’t do that, she told herself. But that reflexive objection lacked conviction, and the fear—the fear would remain with her for a long time. Especially knowing what she did now—if she knew it. Because she certainly wasn’t going to take a stranger’s word for this, no matter how plausible it sounded, and no matter how convinced Niko might be.

  Hafiz smiled wryly. “We will only do to them what they were going to do to us.”