by Rhonda Mason
“What in the void made you try this?” he asked by way of greeting, scrambling to his feet.
She grinned briefly. “Good to see you, too.” She’d pulled off her helmet, but otherwise was still fully suited up. “Let’s talk and walk.”
He fell into step with her as she started down the corridor. “And where’s your sidekick? We’re supposed to be two-by-two everywhere.”
“Malkor’s EMU malfunctioned. One of the seals started leaking even though the thing’s brand new. I slapped a patch on it but alarms kept going off that he was about to die horribly so he’s a couple levels up having Rigger run diagnostics on it.”
“Let me guess, you told him you would be right behind him, but instead decided to have some fun crawling down maintenance shafts in an EMU.” Vayne swept the beam of his light back and forth across the corridor as they walked, hunting for any threat. Tia’tan wasn’t armed—plasma weapons were useless in the cold of space, so they hadn’t brought any to the unpowered, unheated lower levels—and he felt pricklingly undergunned in the dark.
“We were pulling the calorie pack stores from one of the commissaries when the suit sprung a leak,” she continued. “Neither of us felt safe leaving the cache out in the open so I told him I’d finish loading the cart and follow him up with it.” Tia’tan’s heavily booted steps echoed off the bare walls. It would be easy for anyone sneaking behind them to cloak their own footfalls in hers. “I punched in the wrong number on the lift without realizing it. When it wouldn’t let me off, I got curious.”
“Curious.”
“Last time the crew told us a level was off limits, you found Itsy’s cell.”
They reached a branch in the corridor and she paused. Vayne held his breath as they listened. Nothing moved as their lights scanned over both options.
“This way.” She headed down the offshoot, which was just as pitch-black as the main corridor. Panels were dead, running lights were off—someone had taken precautions to ensure that this floor drew as little power as possible.
Vayne continued to sweep ahead with his psi powers, only partly comforted when he didn’t sense other minds nearby. There were ways to shield oneself from such detection, after all. “How much farther?”
She stopped in front of a door that looked identical to several they’d passed already. He reached his mind forward…
…and hit a wall.
It wasn’t that he didn’t sense anything in the room. He couldn’t even see into the room. He looked to Tia’tan, brows raised.
She detached a grey module, no more than ten centimeters square, from the door’s panel. “Try now.”
This time when he reached out he encountered several minds, but only faintly. Their signatures were heavily muted, more than just a sleeping mind would be. In a coma? Some kind of stasis?
Tia’tan set the gray box—a mini psi field dampening device—on the floor.
Even knowing they were there, Vayne couldn’t read much from the minds on the other side of the door. “What makes you think they’re prisoners?” At this point, though, he could almost believe anything.
“I worked with Tanet this morning. The physicist can’t remember his own security code, now that it changes so often. He had me memorize it, too.”
A physicist with trouble memorizing numbers? That didn’t bode well for Tanet’s continued sanity.
The door’s panel glowed to life as she tapped it to display the SECURE LOCKDOWN message. “Apparently, Ida’s crew, or the five that we thought of as ‘the crew,’ have access to this room.” She entered the code twice, as prompted, and the door’s locks disengaged with a thunk.
Vayne entered first since he was armed. Low lights revealed what looked like soldiers’ barracks. Row after row of bunkbeds filled the long room. The officer cabin he was staying in sure beat the enlisted airmen’s barracks.
Movement at the far end caught his eye. He swiveled his bullpup in the direction but Tia’tan laid her hand on the weapon and pushed it toward the floor.
::Gently.::
It pained him to walk slowly because the clock was ticking in his head, counting down the minutes until Corinth realized he’d been gone too long. Until Malkor worried that something had happened to Tia’tan. Until a callout was sent and everyone knew where they were and what they were up to. At this point, that was the last thing he wanted.
The light revealed six people occupying the last bunks of the room—all the other bunks were empty. Two of the people slept fitfully—eyelids twitching, a leg kicking, hands clenching and unclenching—as if they fought against sleep, or perhaps waking. A woman on the top bunk of another stack lay flat on her back, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, lips moving as she muttered something to herself.
The three remaining crew members were conscious, thankfully. One, a woman, sat on a lower bunk. She held a picture of someone, the fingers of one hand tracing lovingly over the details of a face, over and over and over. A man stood near a wardrobe cubby, calmly pulling out folded uniforms, shaking them out, then refolding them. The third paced back and forth across the aisle. He held a datapad and seemed to be dictating something to it.
“Hello,” Tia’tan said. “May we speak with you?”
The woman with the photo looked up and smiled. “Hello, have we met?”
“Yes. I’m Tia’tan, and this is my friend, Vayne.”
The soldier folding clothes never looked their way, but the pacing man stopped, staring at Tia’tan intently.
“You have purple hair,” he said, as if it were of great import. And for a soldier at war with Ilmena, identifying Tia’tan’s race by her hair color would have been. Only, the man couldn’t quite seem to piece that together. He pursed his lips, his brow furrowing as his brain worked the problem. Vayne held his breath, ready for an explosion of conflict, but the man only shook his head.
The woman spoke. “I am being Officer Kendrik, and this is Airman Gaar.” Then she looked over her shoulder at the man refolding uniforms with precision. “Enska, leave off, now.” Airman Enska showed no sign of having heard her.
“You are not crew of the Yari.” Kendrik’s statement had a bit of a question to it.
“We’re visiting,” Tia’tan said.
“In an EMU?” Gaar asked. “Others not having a need for one when arriving.” His eyes scanned Tia’tan, then Vayne, then Tia again, as if he could almost decipher the puzzle they presented.
Vayne latched on to Gaar’s statement. “Others? Who else visits?”
“The captain, of course,” Kendrik said. “Prime Gunner Strokar is also to visit us. And sometimes it is a physicist that has the bringing of things.”
Enska took another folded shirt from the wardrobe, snapped it open with a brisk shake, and proceeded to fold it tightly.
“When do they come?” Tia’tan asked.
Officer Kendrik started outlining a schedule of visits that Vayne couldn’t quite follow, then Gaar broke in, confusing the issue, and a discussion ensued during which it became clear they had no strong concept of which day it was relative to any other day.
::What makes you think they’re ‘prisoners?’:: he asked Tia’tan silently. ::Sure, the door’s locked, but it’s clearly for their own good. I wouldn’t want these three wandering the ship alone.::
::Look at their ankles.:: She opened her mind to him, deepened her communication beyond mere speech. Vayne immediately felt her certainty that something wasn’t right.
The right pant leg on each crew member was bunched, restricted from falling naturally by a tight metal band around the lower calf. When Gaar shifted his weight from his left to his right leg, Vayne caught sight of the skin below the metal band. The red-brown of burned tissue peeked from beneath.
Locator devices he could understand, in case any of these people got loose. But: ::Electric resistor bands?:: Prisoner restraints of that type had been deemed inhumane centuries ago. Tia’tan shared her thoughts and impressions instantly in a cascade of images. The thinness of the c
rew—clearly, they didn’t eat as well as Ida and the others did—but most especially Officer Kendrik. The deep gouges in the metal of the band on Enska’s ankle, along with a series of scratches across his skin, disappearing into his sock. Cyanosis of the lips and fingernails on the two sleeping men. The muttered words of the semiconscious woman on the top bunk: It’s not safe, need to hide. It’s not safe, need to hide.
And lastly, something he’d missed entirely: Kendrik’s moment of acute alertness when they’d entered. Her gaze had flashed from them to the open door behind them, assessing the entire situation, before she’d dropped her head to study the picture she held.
“You are of Ilmena,” Gaar said suddenly, staring hard at Tia’tan.
Vayne tensed. When Gintoc succumbed to madness and believed himself still at war with Ilmena, he had tried to kill Tia. Vayne expanded his shield to cover her without another thought—never mind that she held her own shield perfectly.
“Not being an enemy now, though,” Gaar continued. “Memory is coming.” His words gathered momentum, as if he rushed to speak before he lost his thought again. “We are in the future, and Ordoch still has the fighting but it is of a new enemy now. Ilmena is an ally?” This seemed a fact too impossible for the man to fully believe.
“That’s right.” Vayne didn’t want to give him time to question it further. Kendrik seemed content to listen, not offering her own remembrances, if indeed she had any.
“We’ve been in the cryogenic long sleep,” Gaar said. “And many things we find are changing when we are awakening. Awakening, hmm…” His energy seemed to be stalling out. “Awakening…” He turned to Kendrik. “The crew all, still having the long sleep?”
She nodded.
“Vittoria?” Gaar asked, but Kendrik didn’t reply. “Vittoria still sleeps?” He reached out as if grasping for something that wasn’t there. Kendrik met his questing hand and clasped it firmly with both of hers.
“Reanimation is not timing right of each crew member, Gaar,” she said, her voice gentle.
“No!” Gaar shook his head. “Not true. Not my Vittoria.”
Enska spoke without pausing in his folding or looking their way. “It being true, and you to cease the crying of forever. I am not to hear it again.” He crumpled the shirt he had been folding. “We all have lost, not you alone.”
“Enska,” Kendrik said in reproof, but the man showed no reaction. Gaar, by contrast, began sobbing.
The voice of the semi-catatonic woman on the top bunk rose to match the din. “It’s not safe, need to hide. It’s not safe, need to hide.”
“Now is time yours to depart,” Kendrik said. “Quickly.” Her gaze flashed past them once again, to the door, then she focused on their faces and Vayne would swear she was lucid. “When rescue attempt made is having the discovery, fog is increasing in here.” She tapped her temple with one finger. “Gaar being in such state might alert them, when next they come, and I am tired of fog. Go.” If Gaar wasn’t clinging so tightly to her other hand, Vayne could imagine she’d be pushing Tia’tan and himself out the door.
::Vayne? Are you coming back?:: Corinth’s voice sounded in his mind.
To Tia’tan he murmured, “Our time’s up.” If he didn’t respond, Corinth’s next question would be to Kayla, and then the whole ship would be alerted.
::I got waylaid by Tia’tan.:: He wouldn’t have even told Corinth that much of the truth except the boy loved Tia’tan. She was second to Kayla in his eyes in terms of sheer badassery, ahead even of those two IDC agents who doted on him. ::I’m heading to you now.::
“We’ll be back,” Tia’tan said to Kendrik, but the woman shook her head.
“More attention we are not needing.” Then she smoothed any expression from her face—or her moment of clarity was swallowed up by her insanity once again—and she dropped her eyes once more to the picture she held. Her fingers traced the outline of a child’s face, stroked the teal hair.
Tia’tan sent a quick flash to him of her conviction that she had no intention of letting this drop.
“We will return,” he reiterated, and then they were locking the crew back inside.
* * *
Late in the evening, Vayne stood in the doorway of the observation deck where he was supposed to meet with Tia’tan. The smaller of the two observation lounges felt almost cozy with the lights down, dominated by its immense viewports.
The middle of the room was filled with rows of metal benches bolted to the floor. Someone had long ago dragged in two of the more comfortable chairs from the officers’ lounge and situated them in a corner. Pillows had been added, along with blankets, and the chairs had the look of well-used nests. He could imagine Ida and Benny passing many an evening in companionable silence as they stared out into the Mine Field that was their prison. Did they talk of their future? Or of the once glorious mission they’d had? Or was it a more intimate connection, shared without words?
Vayne froze in place when he spotted Tia nestled into one of the chairs. Her hair was still damp from a shower. She had her legs drawn up under her, her chin resting on her knees as she contemplated space. She looked… restful. At peace. It was a look he hadn’t seen for the entire duration of his captivity.
If he ever achieved such a state—which seemed unlikely— he would kill the person who broke into his reverie.
He turned to go, but her mind voice stopped him.
::Stay.::
Not just her voice, her essence. He felt her presence wrap around him even though she still sat across the room, a warm mixture of welcome, acceptance, pleasure at his company, and above all, a wish that he not turn away from her. That he not shield any part of himself.
It was so honest a sharing that he wondered if she realized what she revealed.
Her openness called to him. He walked toward her, unable to do otherwise. His family and the other POWs had guarded their psyches zealously, being under constant attack from Dolan. Locking himself in a mental vault was his new normal. The one person he’d imagined being able to let in was Kayla, but without her psi powers, their cherished connection was lost to him. For now. She’ll reconnect to her powers soon.
He never expected to have an invitation to such personal communication from anyone other than Kayla, never mind a desire to reciprocate.
Tia’s scent drifted to him, rising from the moist heat of her freshly showered skin: military-grade soap. Standard issue on the Yari. It was different from her previous, delicate scent, but whatever pleasing cosmetic she’d used before had been destroyed along with her ship.
Pleasing cosmetic?
Gods save him from such idiotic commentary.
Tia patted the chair beside her without looking at him, her gaze still on the stars. No demands, no questions.
He sank into the chair, growing more at ease with each quiet minute that passed. It was their first chance to talk since finding the imprisoned crew members that afternoon, but he was in no hurry to break the stillness of the evening. Bit by bit, the tension that strung him tight bled away into the softness of the chair. His eyes drifted shut.
Which was his mistake.
For a time he’d been able to forget their encounter in the bathroom. Now it all came back: the intensity of her lavender gaze, the burn of her touch against his bare skin, the impossibility of the idea that she touched him of her own volition…
…and Dolan’s voice in his head, making him wonder if Tia’tan really used her own volition, or labored under his.
“Vayne?” Kayla called from behind him, and his eyes snapped open.
Tia’tan was looking beyond his shoulder, toward the doorway.
::I invited her:: he said to Tia. A fact he had forgotten.
She nodded. ::I assumed you would bring your ro’haar.:: There was no judgement in her tone. ::Just as I assumed she would bring Malkor.::
Vayne turned to look. Sure enough, Kayla strode into the room with her trademark “let’s do this” stride, and the IDC agent followed.
Vayne opened his mouth to argue against Malkor’s inclusion—and Kayla clearly expected his opposition—but Tia stopped him.
::You can trust Malkor.:: She sent her surety along with the words, but trust in an imperial was too ill of a fit for him.
::How do you know for certain?::
::Simple. He’s in love with Kayla. He’s not going to choose any action which would endanger her or those she cares about.::
Vayne sent a flash of memory to her: IDC agents in their indigo and teal uniforms arriving in the palace, and then the bombs and destruction the day they left. ::He is an imperial.::
::Someday his words and his deeds will need to outweigh that fact in your mind, Vayne.:: A hint of censure came across their link. ::We all want the same thing, now.::
Kayla arched a brow, watching them both, ready to defend Malkor’s right to be there. Malkor’s expression was so irritatingly neutral that Vayne wanted to argue, just to set him off.
::You had better be right about trusting him:: he said to Tia, then held his peace.
“Let’s all sit,” Tia’tan said. She rose from her comfortable chair, then padded over to the closest bench, inviting the others to join her.
Kayla sat across from her. “Tell me what you found this afternoon. The wait has been killing me.”
Rather than explain in words, Tia saved time by expressing the pertinent moments with her mind, sending the three of them both her impressions and the gist of their conversation with Kendrik and the others.
Malkor blinked. Blinked again. “Well that’s an expedient way to do things.”
Vayne felt a petty pleasure at the knowledge that Kayla never communicated with Malkor on that level.
I am such an asshole.
“It’s tough to tell from that impression alone,” Kayla said, “how sane those crew members are.”
Malkor nodded. “I agree. At times they seem lucid, but the preoccupation, the obsessive repetition of simple tasks, the woman half-catatonic in the top bunk…”
“You said the captain told you that as each crew member’s sanity failed, they were forced to lock them up. That could be all this is.”