The Dark Reaches

by Kristin Landon

  “Is that why so many deepsiders have stayed in the system?”

  “Yes,” Esayeh said. “And now when we see that we must leave—we can’t complete the evacuation unless we know we can be supplied, at least our minimal needs, from the Hidden Worlds.”

  She took a breath to protest, but he forged on. “And those same ships could begin to evacuate people to the Hidden Worlds. A few at a time, we know it will take years to move everyone—but for centuries we have waited for hope. We’re a patient people.”

  “You ask a lot,” she said slowly.

  “In exchange for much of the wealth of Old Earth—genetic and cultural,” Esayeh said. “Much of what your ancestors had to leave behind, that you thought was lost. Put a value on that, if you can.”

  She was silent for a while, then said, “I still don’t see how it can happen. If there were no war, if we were safe from the Cold Minds, then perhaps we could spare some people, some ships. But as it is—” She broke off, seeing his despair. “And what about the Tritoners?” She looked him squarely in the eye. “If all the deepsiders vanish, they’ll be the ones the Cold Minds raid for pilots.”

  Esayeh’s expression tightened. “When I was a Tritoner, we used to talk about sacrifice for great causes. Perhaps they’ll finally learn what it’s like when the sacrifice is their own.” He shook his head. “I’ve argued this at the Star River Meetings year after year, but I see no chance that the Consensus will ever permit the Tritoners to be told about this. The deepsiders don’t trust them. And they have good reason not to.”

  Linnea looked down at her hands. The treasures in that habitat would be a great gift to bring to the Hidden Worlds; but still not the new weapon, the new defense they needed—that she had been sure she would find in Earth’s system. She raised her head and looked at Esayeh. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I will be able to persuade my own people, either.”

  “But you’ll try,” he said quietly. “I trust you to try. We’ll help you regain your ship. You’ll be free to go.”

  Linnea closed her eyes at the surge of longing. The Hidden Worlds—the chance to tell them what she and Iain had learned—

  “I won’t go without Iain,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” Esayeh said gently.

  Tears blurred her vision. “Thank you.” She blinked hard.

  “Then let’s go home,” Esayeh said.

  “Yes,” she said. “Home.”

  Where Iain was.

  FOURTEEN

  TRITON THREE DAYS EARLIER

  Late in the evening, long after candlelight, Tereu stood at the commscreen in her private study signing orders, one after another: a change in calorie allocation to reflect current crop results; the proclamation of extra sweets at midday tomorrow, in honor of the birthday of the city’s oldest inhabitant; a congratulatory message to the winning teams in the citywide school lacrosse tournaments.

  She had wished for years that she could allow her staff to handle at least the ceremonial items—who would know? But years ago, shortly after taking over command of the Tritoner pilots, Hiso had made a great public issue of her close attachment to the daily lives of the people. He had said to the official press, and to her private council, and to every delegation of citizens how fortunate Triton was to have such a leader, in these dangerous times when the city’s pilots were called to duty farther and farther from home. He knew, he said, when he jumped far away on some lonely patrol, that at home his people were in Tereu’s safe and attentive care.

  And thus he had trapped her even more deeply in a tangled net of delegations and appearances and proclamations, visiting newborn babies and dedicating industrial equipment when she could be—When I should be leading this city.

  She glanced at the list of documents still to be dealt with: twenty-seven more, and she was done—an hour perhaps. Then the flag on one of them caught her eye: It was from the research station above Nereid, where Hiso’s men were supposedly studying the Cold Minds pilot. Finally.

  But when she flicked it open, she found only a technical report, dense columns of unrelieved text. So after three days, she still had not even seen an image of the thing.

  She read further. Apparently they had begun making progress once they’d taken Pilot sen Paolo’s suggestion: giving the creature its “vision” back in the form of a visual monitor it could hold and aim in its hand. That had plainly reduced its level of panic. It could not speak, could not convey information in any way, but it no longer needed to be constantly drugged; its behavior could be studied, and physiological samples could be obtained more safely. More information, the report concluded, would be forthcoming in two or three days. Or ten days, or never, Tereu thought sourly, and pressed her right thumb on the screen to initial the document.

  She was deep in a set of proposed song selections for the new season of the city youth chorus when she heard a polite cough behind her. She turned, expecting Hiso, even though he was supposed to be out on patrol until tomorrow. But instead she saw Pilot sen Paolo, neatly dressed in dark gray as always, standing deferentially just inside the open door. “Pilot,” she said, and acknowledged his bow with a nod. “What can I do for you? I’m afraid there’s still no word about Pilot Kiaho.”

  “I didn’t expect any, Madame,” he said, and she heard the hint of tension in his words. “I—have a request.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t unlock your ship,” she said. “I don’t have the authority—it’s a pilot matter.”

  “You should have it in Pilot Kimura’s absence, Madame,” Iain said. “The ship might be of use if an attack were to come.”

  “There will be no attack,” she said. “Pilot Kimura has satisfied me on that point. Your ambush of the Cold Minds’ raid will not be traced back to Triton. Your ship would have been completely unknown to them.” She shrugged. “They are just as likely to suspect the deepsiders.”

  She saw just a flicker of anger on sen Paolo’s somber face, quickly and expertly suppressed. How she wished that this man had accepted her offer of power: a man who could lead without swagger, argue without anger, inspire without fear—perhaps such a man would have been able to guide her people out of this trap.

  Sen Paolo said only, “In any case, Madame, the request has nothing to do with my ship.”

  She eyed him. The security call button implanted in her left hand would bring instant help, and he must know or guess that that was the case. “I will listen.”

  “I would like to escort you out to the Nereid research station tonight,” Iain said. “I think that you need to see the Cold Minds pilot for yourself.”

  She did not allow her expression to register her slight shock at the absence of her title. “Does First Pilot Kimura know of this expedition?”

  “No,” sen Paolo said, his voice hard. “Nor would he allow it if he did. He does not want you to see this.”

  Her heart racing, she touched her commscreen, ending surveillance of this room and wiping the record of the past five minutes. “Who is the pilot you’ve arranged?”

  “Perrin Gareth,” sen Paolo said. “Your cousin. All quite proper.”

  And how did you manage that? she wanted to ask him. Another part of her wanted to send sen Paolo away. Hiso loved her in his way, and certainly he loved this city—he must have a reason, perhaps a good one, to keep her away from the Cold Minds pilot.

  But instead, after a moment’s hesitation, she sent her security commander the code that meant she required privacy—a code that would also allow for a private absence, not to be reported to Hiso, not to be questioned. Then she locked her commscreen and turned to face sen Paolo. “What is this?”

  Sen Paolo lifted his chin. “Do you know of Pilot Kimura’s arrangement with the Cold Minds? Of the deepsider children?”

  Her mouth went dry. “It’s true that I should not know,” she said. “This is a First Pilot’s secret, and always has been. But—I had another husband, another First Pilot, years ago. And he told me. Hiso knows th
is.”

  “Is your first husband dead?”

  She straightened with careful pride. “He went out to the deepsiders,” she said. “He left Triton forever when he learned of the arrangement—he told me of it, and he left.” She looked into sen Paolo’s dark, angry eyes, remembering another man’s anger, another man’s eyes—cold light blue—looking into hers with the same accusation. Then she pushed the thought away. “How did you learn of the arrangement? Did Hiso tell you?”

  “No,” sen Paolo said. “It was the ambush that gave it away, when we captured the pilot. So exactly timed. And yet Hiso had claimed not to be spying on the Cold Minds’ movements.”

  “If he let you see that much, then he wanted you to know,” she said. “He wants to trap you in this as I have been trapped. He wants to make you know of it and live with the knowing.” She saw in his eyes that he heard her bitter tone—but what he showed was not pity, but sternness. No. She would not allow him to judge her.

  “In time,” she said, “after you’ve been ashamed long enough, you start telling yourself there’s no choice. You accept it.” She had been terrified, at first, that Esayeh would betray Triton’s crime to the deepsiders—who might then end their dealings with Triton entirely, closing off trade that her city still depended on, pulling out the doctors and technicians that Triton still needed to supplement its own.

  Yet Esayeh had not done this; after he left her, there had only been silence from him, silence for years.

  As she had kept her own silence.

  She looked into sen Paolo’s eyes and saw something else there. A flicker that might now be pity. So he is as weak as I am, she thought with regret. “Take me to this thing you wish me to see. I’m ready for anything.”

  “No.” Iain’s voice was remote. “No, you aren’t.”

  The flight in her cousin Gareth’s ship to the orbiting research lab was brief. Tereu was glad, though, that she’d had the thought to put on one of the antinausea patches Cleopa’s physician cousin had given her last year, before her journey to inspect the research and industrial facilities on and orbiting Nereid.

  Her young cousin Gareth seemed subdued into silence, which was not usually his way; so she did not make him more uncomfortable by pushing conversation on him. Nor did she offer any words to sen Paolo, who saw and understood too much. They docked, and she accepted Gareth’s assistance to leave the ship. The passageway outside, lit dimly in cold blue for the night cycle, felt chilly, and she wished she had thought to bring a wrap. Too late now.

  Gareth tugged Tereu along awkwardly, his hand on her elbow; she kept her hands clasped tightly together, pressed against her chest, a trick she had learned to hold off the feeling of wild falling that had panicked her the first time or two in zero gee.

  Sen Paolo, who of course moved easily here, waited for them at a hatch up ahead. When Tereu and Gareth reached it, Gareth guided her hands to a metal handle set into the wall. She stopped herself from rocking there like a silly balloon and glanced at sen Paolo. “Let’s get this over with quickly. I want to go home.”

  There it was again, in sen Paolo’s eyes: pity. Beside her, Gareth punched in the security code and hauled the hatch open.

  Light spilled out. The compartment inside—a lock?—was small, spherical, with a huge round window of thick glass facing into the room beyond, which was filled with harsh white light. Tereu allowed herself to drift forward, curious—there was a sleeping sack in there, floating loose and empty, and a large bulb of water—

  It burst from the corner of her vision and plastered itself in front of her, pressing against the other side of the glass. The shape of a man, dressed in a white coverall, silhouetted against the light.

  Tereu lurched back and felt the welcome warmth of both men’s arms catching her, holding her steady. Then as her eyes adapted and she saw the thing’s face, she took a thin breath and let it out in a whispered scream.

  It had no eyes, except for little crusted wounds. The nose had been mashed to parallel slits; the mouth drooled, shapeless and toothless. A wire led into one of the eye wounds, its other end attached to a small round object like a lens that the thing held in one hand, pressed against the glass. Aimed at her.

  With a wave of revulsion, she remembered the report she had read this evening. The thing was looking at her—in the only way it could.

  She took a breath. So. Sen Paolo had probably hoped for this effect—hoped for the horror, the fear that she had just shown him.

  Well, that would be his last satisfaction. She drew on years of self-control—years of experience Hiso had given her that this young man could not begin to guess at. She turned herself around awkwardly to face sen Paolo, and said, almost evenly, “Did you imagine that I was not aware of this?”

  “Yes,” sen Paolo said. His voice was flat, sober. “I knew you were not aware of it, not in this way. Or Pilot Kimura would have paraded you out here to see it already. This is the grand opening move of his war against the Cold Minds. Surely he would want you to cut the ribbon—if he wanted you to understand it at all.”

  She gritted her teeth. “So what is the point of this?”

  “I thought,” sen Paolo said quietly, “that seeing this might remind you of who you are. Of who you really are.”

  “Seeing this monster!”

  “Seeing that the policies you oversee,” Iain said, “turned an innocent, healthy human child into—this.”

  On the other side of the glass the thing shifted its hand to look toward sen Paolo. She saw sen Paolo gather himself—saw him smile at the thing, as if it could know what that meant!

  Then she shuddered. Perhaps it does know. Some of the children taken were as old as eight or nine. . . .

  No. “Pilot sen Paolo,” Tereu said coldly, “I resent this disgusting effort at emotional manipulation. Gareth, take me home.”

  The boy looked at her. “I’m sorry, Cousin. Not yet.”

  She drew her head back, affronted. “Now,” she said. “Or I will speak to First Pilot Kimura, and your career will end.”

  “I think,” the boy said carefully, “that it was going to end soon anyway.”

  Tereu twitched her hand, signaling for security. Gareth caught the motion and shook his head. “It won’t work, Cousin.”

  “No help in range,” Iain said. “There is only a small medical staff on duty in the night hours, and their monitoring room is on the other side of the—patient’s quarters, one level up. They can’t hear us.”

  “You’re committing a crime,” she said hotly.

  “I’m trying to get you to listen to me,” sen Paolo said. “Set aside your fear of Hiso. He can’t hear you now. He can’t control your actions unless you choose to allow it. All I ask is that you listen. I give you my word that you will be returned safely home tonight.”

  “While you and this renegade escape to the deepsiders,” she spat. She saw Gareth wince.

  “No,” sen Paolo said. “Gareth will keep his oath to the First Pilot—he’ll return and face what happens next. And I’ll remain in your power. But, Madame—the ground is shifting.”

  She looked at the thing on the other side of the glass. “Must we talk here?”

  “Yes,” sen Paolo said. “We must.”

  She closed her eyes. “Then I will listen—for my people’s sake.”

  “You’re afraid for your people,” sen Paolo said.

  “I’m bound to them by my word of honor,” she said. “And I love them.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze fiercely. “Tell me what choice you would have made, in my people’s place six centuries ago. With the Cold Minds about to crush you, about to end everything.”

  “I can’t, of course,” he said. His voice was gentle. “I never was in your place. But I’ve had—the opportunity to learn something about honor.”

  She kept her eyes on his.

  “Kimura Hiso has the kind of honor my brothers of the Line held for so long,” sen Paolo said. “Pledged to a proud tradition. Built on something outside
himself: his ideal of your city, your people. What I have learned—” His voice actually faltered. She watched him sharply as he continued. “What I have learned is that honor like that . . . because it is external, it can be broken by forces we do not control. I—someone I love dearly taught me that the first, the most important truth to hold to is truth to oneself. Always to ask, do my actions, do my decisions reflect the man I should be?”

  “You cannot tell me that Kimura Hiso is dishonorable,” she said. But she heard the uncertainty in her voice. Damn—he was shaking her.

  He looked straight at her. Into her. “I do tell you that. Examine yourself. Consider what was done to the human being we are looking at. Not just here, now, but at the beginning of his life, when he was sold into the Cold Minds’ service. Will you say it was done in your name, and by your will?”

  Out of pride, she made herself turn her head and look at the thing inside the glass. “I knew of it, and I do not repudiate it,” she said firmly. “That was done to protect my people. To whom I am sworn.”

  His voice was careful, kind. “At any price?”

  “Even my life,” she said angrily.

  “Even his?” Now Sen Paolo’s voice shook. “I learned, through the worst—loss—of my life, that the one price you can’t pay to protect what your soul treasures most is—your soul itself.” He took a breath, then another, and went on. “It breaks people. As it has broken Kimura Hiso. He cannot walk away from this choice; he’s paid too much of himself. You—have not, not yet.”

  “You don’t know me at all,” she said fiercely, against the sting of tears in her eyes.

  “I want to help you,” he said. “Has it been so long since anyone wanted to help you?”