Bloodstone

by Kathryn Hoff

  “You think the voice comes from a fungus or a fish? Balan would be very disappointed.”

  “Actually, if it weren’t for the blood part, I would think it came from a machine.” His hand jiggled pensively.

  “A machine?”

  He shrugged. “If I were going to leave a map in a place where someone would find it hundreds or thousands of years later, I wouldn’t rely on a living creature. I’d build a machine.”

  Sometimes I forgot how smart Archer was. “That’s clever. But why would anybody do that?”

  “There was a war at the time, right? Maybe it’s military secrets.”

  I rubbed my arms, feeling suddenly cold. “I hope not. When war and religion get mixed up, things get very bad.”

  Three nights later, we were coasting in the last, long jump before powering up for the sublight leg to Kriti.

  In the small hours, I wakened from a dream. I’d fallen into a bottomless well amid swirling darkness. Papa had stood far above me—I’d stretched my hand to him, but he was out of reach.

  Feeling uneasy, I got up to make a routine round of the ship.

  All was quiet in the wheelhouse. Hiram dozed at the helm, the monitors set to ping if anything needed attention. Through the canopy, the ether’s golden haze had given way to a dusky brown, like sailing through broth. The wardroom door was closed and silent.

  I crept down the aft steps to the engine room. Archer snoozed peacefully in his nook, relying on the monitors to alert him if adjustments were needed. Even in his sleep, he twitched like Tinker dreaming of the hunt.

  The cargo holds were all locked and silent, except for the tablet’s whining to go home. I made a quick check of the panel that hid the synthreactor core: The dirt and lube I’d rubbed onto the screwheads seemed undisturbed.

  On the passenger deck, the cabins were shut and quiet, except for the faint drone of Balan’s voice—something about Suriel, probably dictating his book to the console. In the salon, nothing stirred except the warning blips on the scanner.

  I was getting ready to turn in when shouts came from the wardroom.

  “You moved the chit!”

  “You’re a liar!”

  I ran up the companionway to the command deck. Hiram hovered bleary-eyed at the wheelhouse door. “Best settle ’em, missy.” He disappeared back to the helm.

  I threw open the wardroom door in time to see Grimbold take a swing at Kojo. Dice and rhollium coins skidded across the deck.

  Tinker streaked out, skidding around a corner to disappear down the companionway.

  Kojo ducked as Grim’s right fist swept past his ear. Grim’s left didn’t miss—he buried it into Kojo’s midriff.

  That left Grim completely open as I slammed my joined fists into his side. He toppled against the bunk as Kojo doubled over onto the deck.

  I grabbed Grim’s shoulder and shoved him out of the wardroom and into the passage.

  “He was cheating!” Grim gasped, rubbing his side.

  “Liar,” Kojo panted, his arms crossed over his middle.

  Danto pounded up the companionway, wearing a form-fitting undershirt and shorts that showed off his sinewy, lightly furred limbs. He carried a stunner in his hand.

  “I will not tolerate fighting,” he said. “Lock Grimbold in the hold.”

  As if Danto had the right to give orders. As if we had a spare hold to use as a brig.

  Grim yelped, “Me? He started it.”

  “I’ll deal with this, Sergeant,” I snapped. “Kojo, give him back his money.”

  “Patch, it was a fair—”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Give it back.”

  Kojo pulled coins from his pocket and thrust them into Grim’s hands.

  “New rule,” I said, as Grim counted his money. “No gambling, except against the entertainment console.”

  “I thought he was captain,” Grim sneered.

  “He is.” I stepped in, to stand nose to nose and eye to eye with Grimbold. “But I’m the one letting you walk away under your own power with your money in your pocket. Keep it there.”

  Grim sidestepped Danto and stalked off, grumbling. With a groan, Kojo collapsed onto the bunk.

  “Good night, Sergeant,” I said. “There will be no more disturbance.”

  Danto took a step closer, close enough for a blow—or a kiss.

  Still keyed up from the tussle, I braced myself, ready to fight back in either case. I was very much aware of those long, furred, unclad limbs.

  For a moment we stood face-to-face. Now that I was used to him, he didn’t seem ugly. His beaky nose would have been distinguished in a Terran. And the small scar was not unattractive. His physique, though thin for a Gavoran, was more than acceptable by Terran standards. It was just that his features were such an odd mixture. Like mine.

  Danto holstered his stunner. “You handled the situation well,” he said.

  A compliment? I shrugged. “A few words over dice, not much of a situation.”

  For another moment he stood close enough for me to feel the warmth from his body, as if he were waiting for something.

  I stepped back. “Kojo? Are you all right?”

  Kojo responded with a grunt.

  Reverting to his familiar irritated scowl, Danto turned and followed Grimbold.

  Ancestors, but he was changeable.

  Too late, I remembered: A Gav man expected the woman to make the first move. An opportunity lost? Maybe, but a dalliance with Danto would complicate an already fraught voyage. With a sigh, I stooped to collect scattered dice and coins.

  “I wasn’t cheating,” Kojo said.

  “Don’t we have enough problems? You promised not to gamble. And I thought you were trying to be friendly with Grim.”

  Kojo leaned close. “I am,” he whispered. “That was just a little show for Danto. Let him think we’re at each other’s throats, but when the chips are down, Grimbold’s with us.”

  Kojo rubbed his stomach and winced. “I just wish he wasn’t so convincing.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Myth and destiny

  A long slide and a bone-jarring thump signaled our exit from the star corridor into the Kriti system. The jump gate lights glowed starkly against the murk of the Gloom.

  We paused only long enough for Danto to relay his report to the Corridor Patrol. Then Sparrow’s engines, quiet during the long days of jumps, roared back to life in all their thumping, wheezing glory. The smooth calm of the star corridors gave way to the trembling and hitches of sailing through swirling ether.

  I passed out headache meds and nausea patches. “We have ten days of rough sailing before we get to Kriti. Strap in whenever you’re sitting or sleeping and keep everything stowed.”

  Mya rubbed her arms and shivered, peering at the salon’s viewscreen. “That dark shadow—it looks like a storm.”

  “That is the Gloom,” Danto told her. “The ether there is so dense it blocks the light of stars beyond. It is…unsettling.”

  Mya gazed at him. “Horrible.”

  Rachel sipped tea with a feline smile. “You were posted on Kriti, Sergeant. Are you looking forward to seeing the place again?”

  I hoped so. Maybe he and Rachel would relax enough on Kriti that Kojo and I could take care of our other business.

  Twice more in the last few days I’d sat next to Rachel while she swabbed samples of dust and stains from the relic’s surface. Each time, I’d found a moment when her back was turned to assure myself that the panel hiding the bulkhead cache showed no sign of disturbance. But how could we find a way to off-load the synthreactor with Rachel constantly in and out of the cargo hold and monitoring our every move?

  Thirty-eight days left to deliver the synthreactor.

  Danto rose, scowling even more fiercely than usual. “Looking forward to seeing Kriti? I had hoped never to see that cesspool again.”

  After three days and nights of rough sublight travel, only Rachel, Kojo and Grim seemed to have an appetite for breakfast. Jamila an
d Mya stared morosely at their plates. I hadn’t eaten much myself, but that was just because the damn relic had whined all night, disturbing my sleep.

  Balan lurched into the salon, holding onto the bulkhead as if in need of support. His face was damp with sweat, his pelt dull, and his eyes reddened.

  He glared at Rachel. “Dr. Fiori! You must let me into the cargo hold. I must be closer to the relic.”

  Rachel rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Balan, but it’s doing you harm.”

  He jerked his arm away, jittering like Archer on a bad day.

  “He looks strung out to me,” Grim said, munching a biscuit. “Maybe you better check his cabin for dope.”

  Lyden spoke gently. “Balan, you do look ill. Let Dr. Fiori help you back to your cabin.”

  “No!” Balan turned to the old woman, a manic hatred in his eyes. “I know what you want. Only I have given blood to the relic. Only I have the right to commune with Suriel.”

  Rachel spoke sharply. “That’s enough, Balan. Return to your quarters. Danto, see that he goes. I’ll get my med kit.”

  Danto grabbed Balan’s arm and marched him down the passage. Balan’s protests faded until the door to his cabin cut them off entirely.

  “Zub’s horns and pitchfork,” Kojo said softly. He looked at me, eyes filled with concern.

  I scrunched my nose at him to prove that I was fine, but inside I was shaken. Was I going to become like Balan?

  Jamila rounded on Lyden. “Now do you see? Now do you understand? That’s how he was at the dig site. That thing is a danger! Do you want to expose yourself to that? To expose Mya?”

  Lyden responded calmly. “Sacrifice is always necessary for great advances.”

  Grim harrumphed. “Easy to say when it’s somebody else making the sacrifice.”

  I cleared the table, trying to calm my nerves. It was only a rock. How could it make Balan so ill? Even if there was a spirit within the bloodstone, I’d never heard of a spirit affecting anyone that way.

  When Rachel and Danto returned, she addressed the group. “I’ve given Balan a sedative. He’ll sleep now.”

  Kojo’s dark face was more serious than usual. “Rachel, I’m responsible for the safety of my passengers and crew. Is there any chance someone else will end up like Balan?” His glance slid toward me.

  “I doubt it,” Rachel replied. “Balan has a much stronger connection to the relic than anyone else. His neural activity spikes whenever the relic is taken from the shielding in the case. No one else has that extreme a reaction. Grim is correct that Balan is reacting like an addict. It’s not just that the relic wants blood—Balan has a physical craving to keep renewing that tie.”

  Kojo grimaced. “Hell. It sounds like a vampire!”

  At Mya’s questioning look, Grim leered. “Vampires look like us but feed on blood—people’s blood. And live forever.”

  Mya’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Horrible.”

  “It’s just a folk tale,” Kojo said. “Part of the story is that if a victim survives the first attack, the victim becomes the vampire’s willing slave. He or she gets some sort of satisfaction from giving blood to the vampire.” Kojo kept an eye on me as he spoke, as if I was about to rustle up a blood breakfast.

  “I assure you, the relic does not house a vampire,” Rachel snapped. She paused, considering. “However, its proximity does appear to affect Balan. From now on, I’ll leave the relic in its protective case in the vault—I have all the samples I need. That should help.”

  I couldn’t be so calm about it. “Balan’s the only one who knows how to get to Nakana. You can’t keep him sedated for the rest of the trip.”

  “We need not rely on Balan until we reach Kriti,” Danto said. “In the meantime, Dr. Fiori will care for Balan and inform me if his condition worsens.”

  “And if it does, what then?” Kojo looked around at the group. “It’s still nine days to Kriti. Suppose that burzing thing starts to affect Lyden like that, or Mya, or you? We could turn around now. A day back to the jump gate, then a couple of jumps to a decent med center. Every hour we continue, we’re in more danger.”

  “Every hour we continue, we are closer to Kriti and the med center there,” Danto said. “I have no doubt Dr. Fiori can manage until then. We go on.”

  “That makes sense to me,” I said, touching my ear to signal Kojo. I appreciated that he wanted to off-load the passengers as soon as we could, but why go backward just when we were getting close? We still had more than thirty days to make delivery. If Balan got worse, it would make a good excuse to scrap the mission—and leave us in an excellent position to complete our other business.

  Kojo rubbed his chin a moment, then nodded. “All right. For now.”

  Later, I knocked on door to Lyden and Mya’s stateroom, wanting only to leave clean towels.

  Lyden opened the door and immediately drew me into the cabin. “Dear Patch, come in. Perhaps you will join us in prayers for the success and safety of our mission.”

  Damn. A religious ambush. “Thank you, Mzee. But I wasn’t raised in your religion. I say my prayers as I was taught by my family.”

  “But you do pray? Excellent.” Lyden enthroned herself on the stateroom’s only chair. “I’m glad that Terran atheism has not entirely destroyed your innate spirituality.”

  Mya perched on one of the bunks. “Every Gavoran child is born knowing in her soul that the spirits guide our lives. With teaching, you could better fulfill your destiny.”

  “Destiny?” I squirmed uncomfortably, my arms loaded with towels. “I’m just here to keep the ship running and the passengers comfortable.”

  Lyden smiled knowingly. “Each of us has a purpose to fulfill in the Sages’ plan. Surely you feel the desire, the need, to serve a purpose? To be more than someone who lives and dies without knowing why?”

  “Everyone wants to think their life means something.” I recalled my barrenness with a pang.

  Lyden nodded regally. “We pure Gavorans are dangerously sensitive to the relic, but because you exist between worlds and between peoples, you can carry us safely. I believe the Sages have chosen you and your brother to bear us on this journey—you are not of our faith, not affected by the relic’s power, but necessary to carry it and us to Nakana. Perhaps this is to be your destiny, your legacy of service to our people.”

  If I had a destiny, I hoped was something more than being Lyden’s luggage carrier. “You don’t really think the Sages will be waiting on Nakana, do you? Assuming we find it. I mean, no one has seen them for five thousand years.”

  Mya leaned forward, eyes shining. “The Sages may not have manifested themselves corporally in the present age, but they continue to guide us, not only through the sacred texts but through their continuing spiritual presence. Perhaps the time has come for them to return to us in a more direct form.”

  A celestial check-in? Not something I was eager for. “Yes, well, if that’s all…” I edged toward the door.

  Lyden said, “My dear, forgive me for inquiring, but I am puzzled. Have you taken a vow of chastity?”

  That stopped me, out of sheer surprise. “Chastity? Why would I?”

  “I only wondered why you have not called Sergeant Danto to you. He seems a competent young male, and a hybrid like yourself.”

  I felt myself blushing. “Mzee Lyden, an accomplished Star Clan man might not welcome advances from me. I’m sure he usually has offers from much more attractive females.” I glanced toward Mya. She sat stone-faced, not meeting my eyes.

  “My dear Patch,” Lyden said with an amused smile, “it is not the place of a male to object when a female chooses him—if they are not compatible, they need not remain together. In the absence of a matriarch from your own clan—Sand Clan, I believe?—let me advise you. You are of an age to provide your clan with offspring. Given your limited options, Danto would be a suitable choice for your first child.”

  I struggled to hold my temper. “I have plenty of options among Terra
ns, thank you. Besides, I thought maybe Mya had an interest in Danto.”

  Lyden sniffed. “Absolutely not. Mya has an excellent future. She should not be sullied by taking a mixed-race companion, however accomplished he may be.”

  Mya wore the tense smile of someone clenching her teeth. Lyden didn’t appear to notice.

  “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  I escaped to my cabin. Nosy old bag. Danto wasn’t good enough for Mya, but perfectly fine for me?

  In my cabin’s tiny mirror, I examined my face, cataloging the ways it differed from the Gavoran ideal. Nose too big, ears too prominent, lips too full, all surrounded by that mane of orange curls. Danto might be a half-blood like me, but he’d been raised to appreciate Gav standards of beauty. Mya would be much more to his liking.

  In irritation, I crammed my beret back on, tucking stray hair underneath. “Limited options”? Maybe I was odd-looking, but that didn’t prevent the occasional portside tumble with a friendly Terran. Why would I swap the variety of my travels on Sparrow for a life tied to a single city or a single man? I’d never aspired to a protracted Terran-style relationship—the arrangement with Archer was just for show. And now that I knew babies would not be a part of my life—all the more reason to spend my life unfettered by a man.

  Feeling the need for an antidote to Gavoran religion, I went to the salon and sat near Jamila, diligently working at her console.

  “Do you mind?” I asked. “Lyden’s been telling me about the Sages.”

  Jamila smirked. “Feeling enlightened?”

  “More like mugged.” I rubbed my fingers where Lyden had clutched them. “Mythology aside, what do we really know about the Sages?”

  Jamila tapped a finger to her lips. “Unfortunately, everything we know is distorted by Gavoran religion. No direct writings or artifacts, just the ‘prophecies’ that some ancient Gavoran claimed were dictated by the Sages. That’s one reason—a big one—to be skeptical about the relic.”

  “But the Sages were real?”

  “Oh, yes. All our faster-than-light travel through the star corridors relies on science far beyond what Gavs or Terrans or Selkids could manage. The Gavs may have built the beacons and gateways, but they clearly learned the design from some more advanced culture—a culture that vanished thousands of years ago.”