Aether (The Shadowmark Series Book 2)
Page 8
CALLA SANK INTO THE CAPTAIN’S chair, daring Doyle to say something about it as they rounded the moon. He ignored her, something he had done much of the last few days. The nebulous mass ahead of them grew larger, gleaming a darker shade of black than the empty space behind it. Shrouded in aether, the Factory ship was never visible. The Condarri had hidden it well, and no one but they knew what it looked like. If Calla hadn't known to look for it, it would have just been a darker black inside the vacuum of space. As it was, her eyes wanted to slide by it without seeing, but she concentrated harder as the Factory aether enveloped the Nomad.
The aether pulled in the Nomad, obscuring their vision momentarily. Then Calla caught a vision of stone as a door slid open before them. Adarria guarded the bay, warning away traitors and would-be attackers. A deep gloom surrounded them as the hangar door closed behind, ensnaring Calla in the very trap she was laying for the other hybrids. She shook off the feeling and stood.
Her body was heavier than it should have been. She paused. The Factory’s gravity was one and a half times that of Earth’s. Calla had forgotten how much more strength was required to move around here.
The ship landed in the hangar near the vortex, a column of aether rising up to other regions of the Factory. The Factory had five such columns, the only modes of transportation to the different levels. Each time a hybrid used one, the aether stripped away at him, revealing his thoughts down to the basest level. It was a simple loyalty test, but only the pure of heart dared use it. Calla hadn’t seen the Factory since she left it for Earth ten years before, and she struggled against the revulsion she felt at the churning mass before her. For her, it represented ignorance and inexperience.
Calla had seen the test work once when she was waist-high. She had been stronger than the little male hybrid who sat beside her with something in his hand.
“Give it to me,” demanded Calla.
“No! I found it.”
“Stole it, you mean.” They sat hidden away behind a dark stone column, having snuck off from their main pod. They were supposed to be learning how to communicate via their adarre, but Calla had already mastered this skill and had persuaded the boy to show her what he had taken from his job at the laboratory—a gleaming, translucent stone, larger than his hand. Uncut and rough. He called it a diamond. He gripped it firmly to keep it away from Calla.
“Let me see it, 162. I’ll give it back.” They only called each other by their numbers back then.
He did not believe her. He would have stuffed it in his pocket then if he’d had one, or known what a pocket was. Here in the Factory, the offspring had no need for pockets because they had no need for possessions. Condar provided everything for them, giving the offspring what they needed only when they needed it.
The stone floor warmed Calla’s bare feet as she stood over 162. She sensed power flowing through her as if the power of the Condarri were seeping into her bones. She could do anything. “Give it to me, or I’ll tell the adarria you took it.”
“I’d like to see you try!” The boy jumped up with ready fists, the diamond in one of them. It didn't quite fit beneath his fingers. He swung at Calla’s face, hitting her squarely in the eye. Her screech echoed down the dark stone chamber as she threw herself at him. They rolled clumsily in the dark corridor, throwing careless punches and pulling each other’s ears because their heads were shaved and they didn't have hair to pull. Both had been taught to fight until death, but their methods as yet were hardly lethal. Eventually, they lay panting on the floor, Calla with the diamond in her hand and a nasty cut over her left eye. The boy pinched his nose to stop it bleeding.
“It’s mine now,” she stated.
“It’s still stolen, 31,331,” he attempted to sneer out her name, but his stuffy-sounding nose didn’t quite leave the effect he intended. Calla thought he sounded like he had stuffed paper into it. The younger offspring believed the longer a hybrid’s name number, the less important the hybrid. Hybrid 162 was created first and felt superior to Calla even though they came from the same batch and shared similar abilities.
She lay on her back, holding up the diamond and wishing she could communicate better with the adarria on the walls, to ask them what it was for. Calla looked at them, beautiful, perfect, and strong. Someday maybe they would give her a mission greater than any other hybrid. She was better than the other offspring. Smarter. Already stronger. And the others only talked about new fighting moves they had learned or loading the weapons they had been given for training. These things were important, but Calla knew she was different. Whatever assignment she was given, it would be because she worshipped the adarria. Calla had yet to see the Condarri themselves, but the adarria called to her, a treasure connecting her to the Sacred Ones.
Calla brought her hand to her flat chest and felt the raised skin of her adarre through the thin shift covering her body. The patterns mimicked the adarria; only she wished they were cut deep into her like in the stone. The raised symbols looked like imitations, and she hoped they wouldn't wear off as she got older.
She looked back at the adarria for comparison. They would have seen the whole exchange. Calla glanced guiltily at the silent walls around her. What if they knew she had touched a stolen object? Did the act make her an accomplice? A gleam of light shone from behind the adarria nearby, causing the diamond to flash. Calla started. Springing to her feet, she chucked the stone at 162 who was still trying to stop the blood pouring from his nose. The stone bounced off him and clattered to a stop by the wall.
“Keep it!” she cried. “You better return it if you don't wish to go to the Council.” The offspring went to the Council for punishment. Calla had never seen it, and no one ever talked of it once they had been there. Being summoned to the Council was not to be taken lightly. If the offense were bad enough, a hybrid may not return.
One hundred sixty-two was sent there when the Condarri discovered his theft, and Calla wondered why he hadn't returned it, like she had advised. She sat cross-legged on the stone floor, concentrating on talking to another offspring using her adarre, when the adarria summoned her, too. Calla walked to her fate with eyes down, afraid of the unknown. When she reached the doors of the Council chamber, they parted for her to enter. Gathering herself, Calla squared her shoulders and walked through. After all, she had done nothing wrong.
Her first glimpse of the room brought light and pain. Calla saw gleaming skin covered in adarria and a giant being standing in front of her. “Eyes down, hybrid!” it said. She almost fell over at the force that hit her like a punch to the stomach, but no one had touched her. She fixed her eyes on her feet and clasped her hands to keep them from shaking.
Us? The chamber held more than one? Adarria covered the floor, but they would be no help to her now. All she could do was tell the truth. Calla never thought of lying to the magnificence before her.
The force of his questioning caused the tremors in Calla’s hands to spread to her legs. She wanted it to stop. She dared a sideways glance around the room. But she didn't see anything but cold, dark stone in the corners of her vision. Maybe nothing bad happened to anyone here.
As soon as the Council released her, Calla ran to her dormitory. Her legs were rubbery, uncooperative, and her face burned with shame. Why hadn't she reported 162? Now the first time she had seen the Condarri was for punishment instead of praise. Would they forget?
Calla’s shame grew at mealtimes. She was not allowed to eat, but made to stand with her peers and watch them. They picked up their food and stood with their pods�
��sitting down to eat was forbidden. Calla didn't care about the hunger burning in her belly, but the stares of the offspring when they learned of her punishment were more than she could bear. Their eyes watched her as they ate. A blemish had been branded into her skin, and it stung more than the punishment itself. Indeed, her adarre had changed, permanently marking her shame. No, the Condarri did not forget. Calla stood with her head high while vowing never to be in this situation again.
She thought of 162 sometimes though, wondering what had happened to him. Then he showed up at mealtime three weeks into Calla’s punishment. He acted like nothing had happened while he picked up his ration and stood with their pod. Incensed, Calla would have attacked him then and there if the hybrids had been allowed to speak in the hall. He ate hungrily. As soon as they were dismissed, she ran to him and pulled his ear. “Why are you allowed to eat?”
The boy looked surprised. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your punishment . . .”
For a moment, 162’s face flickered, the haughty exterior gone. “Shh! You’ll get me into more trouble. I already served my punishment, and I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
“Your punishment is over?!” Calla couldn’t believe it. He had stolen from the Condarri.
One hundred sixty-two looked bitter for another moment before clearing his throat. “Yours is nothing,” he said and walked away. He ignored her after their conversation and kept to himself. Calla wanted to confront him again but remembered the Condarri had told her not to speak of it. She still had a week to go without food with all those eyes watching, and she didn’t want any more punishment heaped on her. She wanted to ask those eyes if they knew what had happened to 162, but feared the question would draw more attention to her. She would have gladly traded her public embarrassment with 162’s private punishment.
Then, on the last day of Calla’s forced starvation, their pod was directed to the next floor up for additional training. They had never been allowed up there before, and their minds filled with quiet excitement. Calla peered over the sea of bald heads in front of her. They all looked the same—male and female dressed in the same off-white shifts that stopped mid-thigh. Two at a time, the offspring waited to ascend the silent vortex. Once each pair stepped into the aether, they became invisible. Slowly, the long line moved forward. Calla had been paired with 162, who quietly ignored her as usual.
She could hardly contain her eagerness. She stood on her toes again, counting the heads between herself and the aether. The hall was dark, the white light above coming from the twisting vortex, shining down over it without penetrating the aether. Hybrid 162’s eyes reflected the harsh light, and his face looked odd, twisted not in excitement as Calla imagined her own face to be, but in anguish.
“Why are you afraid?” she asked.
“I’m not afraid,” he said. He was quiet again until they reached the transport. Black aether rose and swirled before them. Only two more offspring separated Calla from her desire. Then 162 turned to her and whispered, “Why are we here?”
He looked small, puny, and weak. Calla couldn’t wait to get away from him. She glanced around, daring another hybrid to associate her with this thief. As they stepped into the aether, the nebula took hold of their bodies and raised them off the floor. Calla smiled in pleasure. “Because they want us here,” she breathed.
He floated up with her through the aether, but the look on his face was anything but peaceful. Calla closed her eyes and tried to ignore him.
“I don’t want to,” he whispered.
“Want to what?”
“Be here.”
Calla’s eyes fluttered open at this heresy, but 162 no longer looked afraid, merely expectant. The vortex seemed to tangle around him then, robing him. Calla experienced a twinge of jealousy as she saw it snake around his arms—the caress of the aether. She resolved never to speak to 162 again and tried to turn her body away from him, but the aether prevented her from moving. Sliding around 162’s tiny frame, it moved to his face, and his eyes grew wide. The vortex enveloped his body completely, swirling faster, and he said something Calla could not hear.
The boy's eyes stared at her without seeing. Then the aether covered those too, creeping up through them like black water pouring over white rocks, masking his face entirely. He grew silent. Calla wanted to leave now, to be out. She looked up but couldn't tell how far they had traveled; yet they must be close to Level 2. Then the message floated to her from somewhere inside the aether:
Something wet slid down Calla’s cheek, and she reached up to see what it was. Her hand found a single drop of water. It had come from her eye. Embarrassed, she wiped it away and said, “Yes, my lord.”
She never saw 162 again. He disappeared that day into the aether. Calla wondered if that was his final punishment, to disappear and not be missed. He was weak, she thought now as she and Doyle approached the same vortex. What would happen to Doyle when he stepped inside? He could have been that male offspring, with his dark eyes and his hair buzzed short.
Calla looked at him just before they stepped into the aether. “Only the most loyal hybrids will dare come back here.”
Doyle inclined his head to her and stepped in. The vortex pulled him away from Calla, and she followed, hoping if the aether tore him apart, she would get to see it. The darkness caressed her as her body floated through the air. Calla smiled into it, but she noticed something else and looked down to see the aether swirling quickly around her waist. It pulled at her, ripping and crushing at the same time. She lost sight of Doyle. Calla tried to breathe, but a mountain was sitting on her chest. She waited for the words that were coming.
Calla thought her heart had stopped from the weight bearing down upon her. Her masters were giving her the ultimate test of loyalty.
Doyle stood waiting on her. “What’s the matter, Calla? Aether too much for you to handle? It must have taken a long time to dig into that cold heart of yours.”
Calla stood, breathing deeply. Her vision was blurry, but she would not let him see her weakness now.
“Quit dawdling,” he continued. “Or maybe you should wait here to conserve your strength? Remember we have to go back down.” Doyle smiled and walked off.
Calla rallied herself and caught up to him, her mind on her new assignment. She glowed at the thought of killing the traitor next to her. But then, did Condar want him dead because he was a traitor, or because he was a hybrid? They clearly did not want any hybrids alive when Calla finally took her own life.
They walked through barren halls and passages shrouded in gloom. In most of the Factory, the darkness didn't come from the aether but from a simple absence of light. The ship was decaying. Not literally—the technology used to build it would last a millennium if they weren't going to destroy it—but a distinct smell of disuse and empty memories pervaded the atmosphere.
Finally, Calla and Doyle reached the control room, which was more like a vast hall than a command center. Thousands of hybrids could stand inside at one time. It contained no controls, no seats, only a window that looked out at the murk surrounding the ship. Larger than the Nomad, it was the only window in the Factory. For years, Calla’s world had consisted of these dark halls and this window that looked into nothing.
Knowing their purpose, the aether parted to reveal the moon partly covered in shadow, filling up the entire left side of the window and blocking t
heir view of the Earth. From the right, sunlight illuminated the Factory with golden rays glinting off the black stone of the control room. They shone on the adarria. This may have been the first time sunlight had ever entered the Factory. What happened when it met the light of the adarria? Calla watched the adarria in anticipation, but nothing changed.
“All this time,” she remarked, “all of their probes and satellites, and humans never knew. They are fools.”
“They weren't supposed to know. Their ignorance was everything,” said Doyle, gazing out the window, not at the sun, but at the moon.
“And nothing. Now we know they didn’t have the technology to be a serious threat to the Condar.”
“It's how Condar wanted it. It's not your job to question their plans.”
“I don't question them.”
Doyle closed his eyes and concentrated.
“You won’t be able to pilot the Factory on your own,” she said.
Doyle glanced at her before walking to stand firmly in the center of the great window. Closing his eyes again, he reached out to the ship. Calla couldn't see what he was doing, but she sensed it. The adarria throughout the ship responded to him as if he had been communing with them for many lifetimes, instead of only one.
The ship turned, and the moon shifted from view. Calla’s heart beat thirty times, and then they were in orbit above Earth. She couldn't help being in awe of Doyle. She had fully expected him to call on the Condarri to move the ship for them, but he hadn't needed help. How had Doyle managed to sharpen his skill so greatly in such a short span of time? No other hybrid could accomplish what he had just done.
And she would have to kill him. For the breath of a second, Calla faltered. Doyle was too strong. He would kill her before she killed him. Is that why the Condarri asked me to do it? To make sure I die? Why don’t they just kill me now?
Because they know I’m loyal. And they doubt Dar Ceylin. Calla thought little of her ultimate assignment. She would destroy herself if the act would prove her loyalty. It would be no more difficult than breathing.