Lochlan barely noticed them. He was following Adam’s gaze toward a cell at the back of the room. Like the rest, it was furnished with a bunk, a toilet enclosed only by a frosted screen, and was otherwise unremarkable but for the older, gray-haired man who lay curled on the bunk, his knees drawn close to his chest.
Kerry.
“This them? I’ll open the cells.” The peacekeeper bent to the console set into her desk and a section on the clear front of two cells hissed open.
Cells at opposite ends of the room. His heart sank yet again, though it was no surprise. Maybe the Protectorate weren’t the type to play cruel games, but they still were cruel, and he understood what this was: a punishment, for the simple crime of being who they were and being together.
At least one of the cells was next to Kerry’s. That might be useful.
Adam was shoved toward that one, while Lochlan was directed into the closer cell—by the same man who had pinned Lochlan to the wall. Lochlan managed to search what little of the man’s face he could see under his blast shield, but the man gave him no attention except a final push inside. He stepped back without a word, and the cells closed.
The peacekeepers left, a couple of them chuckling. “Sweet dreams, lovebirds.”
The woman behind the desk settled back down to whatever she had been doing when they had entered, her head bent over the console. He glanced across at Adam, who was standing with his hands pressed against the transparent wall, mouth drooping and eyes hollow.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled by the wall but still clear enough. Lochlan shook his head and laid his own bloody hand where the door had been. Its seams had vanished, and he couldn’t be sure he was touching the right place.
“It’ll be okay.”
“Hey.” The woman lifted her head, shooting them both a glare. “Shut up. Or you can wait a day for rations.”
Even this was being denied them.
Adam gave him a final look, features twisted with obvious pain. It was almost enough to make him speak, regardless of the consequences but Adam turned away from him and moved over to the bunk, sinking down onto it and lowering his head into his hands.
Lochlan watched him for a while. It was all he could do, the last contact he could give. He couldn’t touch Adam, couldn’t hold him, so he imagined doing those things, giving him whatever comfort he could, taking whatever was given, and he prayed that those thoughts might be able to cross the yards that separated them and settle into Adam’s own mind. Hands and warm arms and a chest to lean on. At last he went to his own bunk. When he lay down on it, he found himself curling up in the way that Kerry was, though the room wasn’t cold. Perhaps it was merely this place. Perhaps it was cold in other ways. No, no perhaps about it. He could feel it.
Now all he could do was wait.
Trust me, you’ll have your chance. Be ready.
“Have we set a course for Terra?” Sinder strode into Captain Alkor’s quarters as soon as the door opened for him, his stance wide and solid and his shoulders squared. His pride wouldn’t be physically contained, and it was as if something unseen was buoying him up, almost setting him floating. His task wasn’t finished, and he shouldn’t relax until Yuga was safely in the hands of the proper authorities, but it was difficult to keep from feeling that the business was truly all but over.
Alkor turned in her seat at a desk in the room’s office alcove. The room and the alcove were both simple, unadorned and functional, but for a drinks cabinet against the wall that was a good bit more ornate than the one in the conference room. Not even medals or other honors were on display, and Sinder knew from reading Alkor’s dossier that she had been given her share.
“We’ll be entering slipstream within the next ten minutes, in fact. ETA is five days. So relax. Enjoy your triumph.” He could detect no sarcasm, but her lack of enthusiasm made Sinder narrow his eyes as he stepped closer to her.
“Our triumph, Captain.”
“Of course.” She thumbed off the small pad she had been studying and rose, stretching. “Sinder, to be honest, I’m looking forward to this being done with. I’m happy for you, really I am. It’ll be a fantastic boost to your career. But my career is over. I have my house on the beach. That’s what I want now.”
Sinder inclined his head. Fair enough. He didn’t entirely understand it, but there was no reason to argue against her decision. Perhaps when he reached her age, he would feel the same desire for peace and quiet.
He doubted it. But there was always the possibility.
“How about a drink, Sinder?”
Sinder smiled. “If you have any of that whiskey left, I’ll take some.”
Alkor nodded and went to the cabinet. It was one of the few signs of luxury in the room, carved from a rich, honey-colored wood and inlaid with intricate shapes that suggested vines and flowers. It appeared to be Klashorg. She bent to open it and produced a decanter and two glasses.
“Are you going to question them?” She glanced back at him as she poured. “I mean, what can they tell you that you don’t already know? And Yuga is facing a firing squad. Nothing can change that. I’d guess that the Bideshi will face the same.”
Sinder remained silent as he took his glass and raised it in a salute, which Alkor returned.
“It’s not enough to simply hand him over,” he said at last. “I need to understand why he did what he did.”
“Understand?” Alkor raised an eyebrow. “What’s to understand? He’s a degenerate, like you’ve been saying. Mutated code. He’s a walking, talking genetic error. Who knows why he’s done what he’s done? What matters is that he won’t be doing it anymore.”
Sinder shook his head. “That’s not true. At least not for me. He was one of our best, Captain. Excellent at his work. Set to become a high-level executive. I know he took ill, and that was one of the first signs that he was an aberration. But joining the Bideshi? And then what happened on that planet. No, I need to have it straight from him, how he understands the meaning of his crimes. He’s not a stupid man. That much is obvious. We’re also sure that he’s not the only one of his kind.”
He walked to one of the wide windows, gazing out at the stars. Soon they would expand into the blinding white of slipstream and the journey home. He would have five days with Yuga. That would have to be enough. “This may not be the last time that we’ll face the threat he presents. While barbarians are always beating on the gates of civilization, yearning to tear down what they can’t comprehend, he’s not a barbarian, though he’s made alliances with them, and threats from within are the most insidious.”
From behind him, Alkor grunted, and it sounded like agreement. “All right. But I’d be surprised if he tells you anything.”
“I think he will.” Sinder took another swallow of whiskey, closing his eyes briefly as he let the smooth taste and texture fill his mouth. “Men like him want to be understood. I think he has principles, however perverse.” He returned to the cabinet and set the glass down on its polished surface. It was truly excellent whiskey, but he wanted to keep his wits about him. “I’ll let him stew another hour or so, and then I’ll see him. Do you want to be there?”
Alkor shook her head. “What I want to do is sleep. I haven’t been doing enough of that. Just let me know if you get anything useful out of him. Or interesting.” She lifted her glass again. “Good work, Sinder. From all of us.”
Sinder gave her a bow and left.
In truth, he was tired as well—not even certain of when he had last slept more than an hour or two, except that it had been a while, and now, if at no other time, he could let himself indulge. But instead he went two levels up to the main security station. As he stepped through the door, he felt the gentle lurch and the instant of disorientation that accompanied entry into slipstream, and smiled.
They were on their way.
The three peacekeepers manning the surveillance streams nodded to him as he entered, but otherwise they didn’t acknowledge his presence—which did
n’t offend him. They had their jobs to do, and kowtowing to a government liaison wasn’t one of them. He looked over their shoulders at the streams, keeping his own silence. One of the views was of the brig, and he bent, peering at it.
Yuga, Kerry, and the Bideshi were all lying on their bunks. Kerry and the Bideshi appeared to be asleep, but as he watched, Yuga stirred, turned from his side onto his back, and swept his hands down his face. Even at the distance of the camera, Sinder could see the tension in his limbs.
A man in torment. Good. His distress would wear him down, make him more pliable.
Then Sinder turned his focus to the Bideshi, to his lanky form, his dreadlocks, the tattoos that covered his arms. The man who Adam Yuga had taken up with. Slept with. Fucked.
It was an ugly thought, but there was no way around it. And the truth was that this was the most fascinating puzzle of all. Perhaps no one else would find it so, but Sinder couldn’t contain his interest. Men and women with Yuga’s tendencies were not openly mistreated, or their rights curtailed. But they were never fully accepted, never allowed to rise very far. They were unnatural: such people were genetic dead ends, and in their hearts they had rejected everything that rested at the core of the Protectorate’s greatness and perfection—the continuation of the species, its long evolutionary journey. As such they were of limited long-term utility. Had Yuga’s desire for other men been generally known, he would naturally have been quietly prevented from rising any further through the ranks of the UTCA. It was true that his abnormality wouldn’t have been considered an abomination like this coupling with a Bideshi. But the fact that he had done so was intriguing.
Because there was something about the Bideshi. For Sinder there always had been. Not spoken of, not because he was afraid but because he sensed that no one else would understand. They seemed to be aware of some secret aspect of reality, seemed to be able to use it. Some power into which they had tapped, which had allowed them to survive—against all reason.
Adam had been drawn to them. Accepted by them. He had been immersed in that awareness more than anyone else in the Protectorate. He might possess some of that same awareness now.
It might be abhorrent, but Sinder wanted to understand it.
When he left the security station, he didn’t hurry on his way to the brig. There was no need for haste; Yuga wasn’t going anywhere, and it was worth taking his time with every part of this examination. He believed Adam would talk. But the man would have to be coaxed, gently. No doubt he still held out hope that things might swing back in his favor, and that hope could be leveraged.
Yuga would see. If it took until the bullet crashed into his skull and tore his sick brain to shreds, he would see.
Adam wasn’t sleeping. But he was dreaming all the same.
It was like when he had taken the shala, when he had gone into the Arched Halls to seek his name. When he had touched the roots of the universe and had felt the darkness that was choking his own. There was a sensation of being down in something deep, a heaviness over his head that made rising impossible.
But the air around him was thin, arid. He was kneeling on the Plain of Heaven with Lochlan bleeding to death in his arms.
I’m sorry, Lochlan rasped, the words forced out between bloody lips. It’s not your fault.
But it was. He stroked a hand over Lochlan’s face, his hair, fingers against his lips as he willed him not to speak, to save every last ounce of his strength and stay with Adam a little while longer. Once Lochlan left him, he would be alone with the dead.
I love you, he whispered, bending his head close. When he kissed Lochlan’s mouth, he tasted blood. It hurt, to love someone like this. He had never believed, before Lochlan, that he ever would. He had wanted men—had lusted after them, if he was honest—but this love, this awful burning thing that was eating his heart …
And in the world above, Lochlan was far away from him. Across a room that might as well have been a galaxy wide.
I’m so sorry.
“Not yet. You will be.”
Adam’s eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head. By now, he knew that voice, and it sent rage surging over the cold grief that had settled behind his breastbone, and that was welcome.
Sinder.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Merely to talk.” Sinder had a slender folding chair with him, and he set it down just outside the transparency, settling comfortably into it as if they were having a relaxed chat over coffee. Adam pushed himself up, glaring, which felt about as impotent as anything else he could do.
“What about?”
“You.” Sinder jerked a thumb in the direction of Lochlan’s cell. He was blocking Adam’s view, but when he shifted to one side, Adam could see Lochlan was standing at the transparent wall. Gaze sharp. Listening. “Him. Everything.”
Adam barked a laugh. “That’s not very specific.”
“I like to keep things open. Flexible.” Sinder folded his hands over his knee. “I think you’re interesting, Yuga. Adam. What you did … Taking these … people as allies, using them to attack us the way you did … I might not agree with it—no, I might find it absolutely abhorrent—but I’ll admit, it took some balls.”
Adam shrugged. It wasn’t praise. He wasn’t stupid enough to think it so.
“I want to understand how everything happened,” Sinder went on. “You were so high and you fell so far. Then you went to the Bideshi, of all people. Can you tell me? I promise, no judgment here.” He smiled. “I’ve already passed all the judgment I care to.”
Adam stared at him, incredulous. “How it happened? Are you serious? How it happened is your Protectorate completely fucking screwed me. You made me sick and you threw me under a liner. That’s how it happened, you arrogant piece of shit.”
Sinder blinked. There was no other indication that he was fazed by the burst of rage, but Adam saw the blink and took icy satisfaction in it. Cosaire had died before he’d been able to face her in person. Now he had a chance to face someone in her place.
“It was your Protectorate too, Yuga. Once.” Sinder cocked his head. “What do you mean, we made you sick?”
Again, Adam stared, and this time his words were blocked by sheer surprise. Cosaire had known the truth of his illness, that it was hidden within everyone, and the knowledge had driven her mad in the end. He had assumed that people of any significant rank in the Protectorate government would know too.
But maybe Sinder didn’t rank as highly as she had. Maybe he didn’t know.
Was that prospect less terrifying, or far more? “It’s in our code,” he said slowly, stepping forward and placing one hand against the wall. “Don’t you know that? What was wrong with me, really wrong … It’s in all of the code. Ours. Bred in, ready to turn on us anytime. Anywhere. Everything you’ve built things on, everything you believe in—it’s a snake in the grass and it’s waiting to strike. You call me a degenerate, but that’s what we all are now. We’re falling apart from the inside. Do you honestly not know? Is that even possible?”
Sinder simply gazed at him, silent, his expression unreadable, and against his better judgment Adam went on, filling the silence.
“Maybe you’ve noticed that some people are dropping things. Their coordination worse than it should be. Maybe they have unexplained muscle pain. Dizziness. General suggestions that their nervous systems aren’t working like they should be? Maybe they’re hiding it really well, but you could have seen it anyway and not known what you were seeing. Maybe … Maybe you’ve even felt it. Maybe it’s happening to you.” He pressed forward, licking his lips. If Sinder truly didn’t know … There could be a chance. To convince him. To change his mind.
“You’re all sick, even if you’re not showing the symptoms. The people in charge don’t want anyone to know, because it would bring down everything they’ve built. Maybe we have structures, maybe we have institutions and rules of law, but foundations are always built on what people trust. What they believe. The foundations are
rotten. It’s going to come down anyway. Sinder, I was sick, but I’m not anymore. I can help us. I can help you, if you help me first.”
Sinder was still quiet. Adam realized that he was breathing hard, his stomach clenching, desperate. If he could only make the man see …
Behind Sinder, he could now see Lochlan standing in his cell, his own hands pressed against the transparent wall. Watching.
Finally Sinder shook his head, a minute movement. But the sense behind the gesture was hard as steel.
“You’re lying.”
Adam closed his eyes in an ecstasy of despair. “I’m not.”
“You are. You’d say anything now to twist this around, make me doubt what I’m doing. That’s what you do. That’s why you have to be stopped.” Sinder pointed at Kerry, who was still curled up with his back to the world. “You see him? I tortured him to get what I needed from him. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but it had to be done. And it wasn’t my fault, Yuga. It was yours.” He leaned forward, every word spat out of him like something poisonous. His impassivity had dissolved, and what had replaced it wasn’t exactly anger, but rather …
Sinder believed what he was saying. This man might be a fanatic. Adam saw it in his eyes, the spark of something that might be fanned into consuming fire. Cosaire had been cold. Inside Sinder was heat. Complete belief in everything he did. A man like that might do anything.
“You put him in that position. You twisted his mind, made him believe your sick, treasonous bullshit. Now he’s going to die with you, and that’s your fault too.” Sinder sat back, his face a mask of disgust. “You have to be killed, just so you don’t kill anyone else.”
Adam simply looked at him. There was nothing to be done here. If there was hope, it wasn’t with Isaac Sinder. “You’ll find out,” he said dully, and turned away. “I have nothing more to say to you.”
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