Inherit the Stars

by Tony Peak

  “Brown face needs attention.” She tugged his hand and exited the side galley. Now she walked more upright, exuding confidence and purpose. They passed four doors and entered a slim corridor. A keypad prevented entrance to a medical ward.

  “Six, eight. Stupid binary. Ah, lock. Redryll? Hmm.” She munched another reed and pressed the keypad’s buttons. The door opened.

  After passing rows of unoccupied cots, Sar rifled through a few wall cabinets, where he discovered thogens, cold packs, blue medical tape, and pink mollusk extract. With the aid of cryostasis, he might be fully healed before reaching their destination.

  Had to be, if he planned to help Kivita.

  Stripping to his underwear, Sar grimaced at the chill air. All of his bruises flared up in aching protest. Bredine sat on a stool and ogled him.

  Sar applied cold packs to his bruises, drank the extract, downed four thogen capsules, and wrapped blue tape around his neck where Shekelor’s coils had left friction marks.

  “Kivita is lucky,” Bredine murmured as she finished the last of her food. “Very lucky with Redryll. Hmm.”

  Sar slipped back into his bodyglove and put the Proselyte outfit back on. Bredine helped, looping the copper-meld cuirass around his torso. Kneeling, she checked his boots and patted his black chaps with military crispness.

  “How do you know this ship? This uniform?”

  Bredine motioned for him to follow her into a storage chamber. Again, she knew the keypad sequence and opened several lockers, where she selected a soldier’s red jumpsuit. She stripped from her bodyglove and donned it. Scars and more curved tattoos ran along her naked body, but she paid him no heed. The jumpsuit hugged her bony frame, which still retained toned musculature.

  “Hurry. The thogens are making me drowsy.” He leaned on a bulkhead while she finished suiting up.

  “Hmm. Warmer now. Ah.” She held up a hand. “My father. He might know. Redryll, Redryll?”

  They passed into a carpeted, draped corridor. Several cryo chambers branched off from it, where dozens more soldiers lay in stasis. The temperature had dropped; their breath crackled as it turned into vacuum frost.

  Bredine stopped at a large doorway framed in gold. Counting aloud, she tapped her fingers on Sar’s cuirass. “Two, five, sixty. Hmm. It never changes.” She pointed at the doorway.

  “What’s in there?”

  She jabbed the keypad, and the door slid open. As they entered, yellow ceiling lamps activated. The round room had a sandstone and quartz floor, couches, and various consoles.

  Ignoring the rich trappings, Bredine led Sar to another large door. She entered a sequence into the keypad and it opened.

  Who was she, possessing such an intimate knowledge of Arcuri’s Glory?

  An adjacent circular chamber, larger than the previous one, gave Sar pause. Dozens of upright cryopods lined the walls. Vacuum frost on the transparent hatches blurred the faces within.

  Bredine stopped before one and activated its waking sequence.

  “Don’t! We need to hide, not wake them up—”

  He stopped at the look on her face. Bredine’s mouth turned down and her eyes narrowed. Despite her seeming near madness before, she appeared dangerously sane now.

  The hatch opened, and a wrinkled old man shivered inside. A tube extended and squirted pseudoadrine into his mouth. The old man coughed, his lungs rattling like a broken Naxan clacker.

  “Leave me be, Thev. I wish to meet the Vim soon.” His speech had archaic Meh Sattan trappings, as if he’d been asleep for a long time.

  Bredine waved aside cryo exhaust. “Father. Hmm. I looked into their stones for you. Pictures, pictures.”

  The old man stared at Bredine, then Sar. “You are not the Rector! How dare you awaken me like this . . . ?”

  Sar stepped forward. “Who are you?”

  “Imbecile. I am . . . Rector Broujel. I should be . . .” He paused and looked closer at Bredine. “What is this? Bredine? You . . . cannot still be here. Unless . . .” Broujel’s eyes bulged, and he coughed in great, racking heaves.

  “Unless she’s been frozen on and off for centuries?” Sar leaned on the cryopod’s hatch as the pain of his bruises mixed with the extract’s tingling in his gut. “Heard you prophets froze each other. Guess you’ll all kiss the Vims’ asses together?”

  Broujel scowled. “Blasphemer! You will be decapitated. Bredine, why are you here? Why are the codes the same? You should no longer . . . know them.”

  “I’ve seen much Vim data for you. Hungry, hungry. Cold. Hurt, hurt. Hmm. Redryll gushing hot for Kivita. Gushing hot in love with a Savant. Narbas, father. Narbas!” She shook the old man by the shoulders until Sar pulled her back.

  Broujel hacked up mucus and leaned over the cryopod’s lip.

  “We eradicated that witch and her . . . progeny. A blight on the salvation of all in the Cetturo Arm. Then you turned against me, Bredine.” Broujel coughed, his breath wheezing through clogged lungs. “My best captain, my best general. You decoded things for the Dirr factions, though. You damned yourself. I had safeguarded you from the Savant purges long enough. Now you come back to haunt me in this cryo dream.”

  Sar nudged Broujel back into the cryopod. “What witch? Tell me, Rector. Your successor has allied with the Sarrhdtuu. He hired a Savant to take the Juxj Star.”

  Broujel shook with rage. “Thev? He should be condemned and replaced! I warned him about Terredyn Narbas. That red-haired, hazel-eyed witch left no legacy. The Juxj Star . . . Terredyn refused to obey us. . . . Release me! I must warn the people, the righteous.”

  Forgetting his pain in an instant, Sar thought of Kivita. The name of her ship, her Savant talent, the remarks Dunaar had made about her—was such a connection possible? If so, he’d allowed the greatest salvage to slip through his fingers. Through his heart.

  “Let’s go.” Sar tugged Bredine’s arm. The cryopods around them seemed to be watching him, listening. Centuries of repression contained in the blood of frozen tyrants.

  She ignored him. “Inheritor sun will fall, Father. Hmm. Cold, hurt, hunger. It will fall now. Sar Redryll loves Kivita Narbas. Dream of a witch reborn.” Tears dripped down her cheeks as she pulled down the cryopod hatch. “Father, be warm.”

  Cryonic exhaust spurted as the pod’s stasis cycle reactivated. Bredine fingered the pod’s console as several lifetimes of pain, glory, and determination passed in her moist eyes.

  Sar gently pried her from the cryopod and led her from the chamber. “Do you know where the airlock bay is?”

  “Fly to Kivita? Hmm. Lucky her. Warm, warm, and warm again you’ll be together.” Bredine smiled and pulled him behind her through the ship, as Sar tried to work his thoughts around what he’d just heard.

  Though Inheritor records weren’t available to the public, he’d heard of Broujel from the Thedes; the man had ruled Inheritor Space five hundred years ago. Bredine had referred to Kivita as a Narbas, and Broujel had described Kivita’s hair and eyes. The golden life capsule waiting at the end of those strange coordinates toyed with his imagination and fears.

  “Airlock bay,” Bredine whispered, while they descended stairs to a lower deck where machinery hummed around them. Metal grating clanked under their feet as Bredine finally led him into the bay itself. Eight forty-foot-wide airlock doors and twenty shuttles awaited them.

  Fanged Pauper was magnetized to a smaller airlock.

  A hundred feet away, a crewman walked onto a gantry and typed at a computer console. Sar and Bredine ducked behind a shuttle’s landing pylon. If they subdued the crewman, anyone searching for them postjump would know they’d been in the airlock bay.

  Bredine slid around the shuttle’s hull and accessed the hatch’s keypad.

  Not daring to breathe, Sar expected the crewman to hear the slight hiss of the hatch opening. Seconds passed, and Bredine entered the hatch. Sar
, eyes still on the crewman, followed.

  An anguished cry echoed across the airlock bay. The crewman and Sar both jumped.

  Shekelor tramped into the bay, his coils wrapped around Zhara. The gorgeous Ascali struggled and gasped, but the coils strangled meaningful resistance from her. Sar’s neck marks burned, and a simmering anger ignited inside him.

  The crewman made to protest, but Shekelor waved him aside. “I shall be taking her aboard Fanged Pauper, as per my agreement.” The pirate’s deep voice reverberated throughout the airlock bay.

  While Shekelor and Zhara entered Fanged Pauper, a hand jerked Sar’s collar. He backed into the shuttle and the hatch slid shut, but he waited a full two minutes before accepting the crewman’s ignorance of their presence.

  Though Cheseia had betrayed him, Sar hated to see her sister fall into Shekelor’s clutches. The pain Zhara must have endured, knowing her sister turned traitor in a doomed attempt to save her . . . Sar had seen it in her eyes. Cheseia’s professed love for Sar must have been part of the plot, but her russet eyes had never seemed false in those intimate moments. Perhaps he would never know.

  One way or another, Shekelor and Dunaar would pay.

  Inside the shuttle, the scent of gun oil and sweat tainted the air. Sar crept past the cockpit and troop harnesses until he found a chamber with four cryopods. He set his to wake him once Arcuri’s Glory finished its light jump.

  Bredine got in hers and sighed. “Warm, warm. Hmm. Kivita can send.”

  “Once they discover we’re missing, they’ll search the ship. Hopefully we can launch from this airlock bay as soon as we exit the jump.” Sar got into the cryopod and closed the hatch.

  He knew their chances amounted to nothing, but he had to make the attempt. Maybe he could warn the Thedes. Maybe even save Kivita one last time.

  Maybe he’d finally save himself.

  28

  Kivita’s wrists and forearms burned as she twirled the jump rope faster. Her bare feet bounced again and again off the floor in time with the swishing rope. Sweat stung her eyebrows, temples, lips. Damp hair clung to her cheeks, and she grinned, twirling the rope even faster.

  A few others in the gymnasium aboard Luccan’s Wish watched her with admiration. The fifty-by-twenty-foot room contained dumbbells, barbells, and Sutaran weight balls. She’d used them all, honing her body to the best condition it’d ever been in.

  Basheev tried to keep up with his own jump rope, but tripped up. “Winking red stars, you’re too fast!”

  Closing her eyes, Kivita laughed. Delicious fatigue sank into her body, burned through her muscles. In contrast to her salvager days, now she relished the need for exercise. With every jump off the floor, it seemed she drew closer to something greater within herself. She wanted to share it, savor it.

  Kivita twirled the rope six times in rapid succession, jumped once, then stopped. Facing the ceiling, she filled her lungs with air.

  “Stars shining, Kivita. Momma says you work out too much.” Basheev pointed at her left wrist. “Still like it?”

  She touched the black ink sword and star Rhii had tattooed on her left wrist. “Oh yeah. She does great work.” Kivita smiled and hung the jump rope beside a weight rack.

  Rhii had told her the sword represented purpose, while the flaring star meant compassion. Long after Terredyn’s death, Dirr natives on Susuron still used her insignia. In Dirr culture, tattoos placed near important veins symbolized a heartfelt conviction. For Kivita, it represented total acceptance of her heritage.

  As she stretched to cool down, the dampness inside her skinsuit became palpable. Dark splotches had spread along the garment. As well as sweating out impurities, Kivita had also shed the mercenary salvager. Returning to such a lifestyle, much less living on an Inheritor world, seemed impossible now.

  Basheev looked up at her. “Rising moon, I want something to drink. Race you to Momma’s galley?”

  Kivita rustled his braided locks. “Easy there, smoothie. Guess Cheseia’s not exercising this cycle, either.”

  As they departed the gymnasium, Basheev took Kivita’s hand. Though her sweaty body chilled in the ship’s corridors, Kivita’s heart warmed. She imagined how it must have felt for Terredyn to hold her on the Susuron beach. Giving birth to her, maybe even singing Kivita a lullaby. She squeezed Basheev’s hand.

  With Savant talents being hereditary, Kivita pondered her real father’s identity. Terredyn had never married, and given Rhyer’s closeness to the queen, he might have been her real father after all.

  Something sank in Kivita’s heart, all the way down to her stomach. Any children of hers would be Savants, too. Hunted like she was now. Fantasies of a family with Sar melted like ice in Haldon summer.

  Exiting the corridor, Kivita bumped into Jandeel.

  “Well, if it isn’t the Sage Squad, come to ask for another headache.” Kivita grinned.

  Jandeel’s long black hair hung in a ponytail, with bronze Tannocci clasps through the tresses. The purple skinsuit he wore made Kivita blush. Several aboard Luccan’s Wish had started wearing purple and maroon, the old Narbas livery colors. Now she received the first plate at meal times, the best cryopod, the softest sheets for norm sleep. She hated all this preferential treatment. Hell, did she look like a queen now, all sweaty and sticky?

  “Bursting stars, Jandeel, you almost stomped over us!” Basheev said. “You can’t have Kivita right now. I’m taking her to get a drink. Twinkling stars, all right?”

  Jandeel smiled at the boy. “I wouldn’t dare break your, ah, date.” The smile faded as he faced Kivita. “You’re needed in Navon’s quarters.”

  Kivita frowned. “What is it?”

  “Refresh yourself, clean up, then come. We must speak before this shift enters cryostasis.” With a quick smile at Basheev, Jandeel hurried down the corridor.

  Before Kivita had time to consider Jandeel’s concern, Basheev tugged her into the galley. Several others sat at tables, eating last meals before entering their cryopods. As she neared the end of her second waking shift, Kivita dreaded going back into cryostasis. Sixteen months aboard Luccan’s Wish made everything before seem like a distant dream.

  “Blinking stars, Basheev, you worry Kivita until she’s sweating!” Rhii called from the serving counter. “Sun and water, bring her over here before the miss dehydrates. The usual?”

  “Yeah, give me the wood-snake milk again. You’re going to make me put on weight.” Kivita leaned over the counter.

  “Queens don’t get fat.” Basheev plopped on a stool and beamed at her.

  Heat returned to Kivita’s cheeks when other patrons looked her way. Maihh waved from her table, where she and other botanists pored over a deep blue hibiscus.

  Rhii slapped Basheev’s hand with a wooden spatula. “Inky void, don’t be embarrassing her, now. Give her your blessings and hurry along. The shift change is coming.”

  Rolling his eyes, Basheev kissed Kivita’s cheek. “Blessings of sun and water on you. Blessings of warmth and light.”

  Kivita hugged him and kissed his forehead. “See you when we all wake up again.” She stared at his back as he left the galley.

  “Warm sunrise, my son thinks highly of you, miss,” Rhii whispered. “Many of us do. Put sun in all our hearts if . . .” She hesitated and touched the tattoo on Kivita’s left wrist. “Best blessings of sun and warmth on you, Kivita. Would be blessings for us all, with one on the throne.”

  “Yeah. Hey, I have to get cleaned up. If you see Cheseia, tell her I’m in my quarters. Kiss Basheev again for me, okay?” Kivita smooched Rhii’s cheek and hurried from the galley.

  The hope in the people’s eyes added to the weight building on her shoulders. She wasn’t a savior, a panacea to fix all their problems. By traveling with them, Kivita placed everyone on Luccan’s Wish in danger. Besides, what was she supposed to do for them?

  Aft
er entering her quarters, Kivita stripped from the damp skinsuit. Though she shared the room with Cheseia, the Ascali had avoided Kivita for the past two weeks. Where before they’d shared galley meals and gym workouts, Cheseia always claimed to be busy now. Others on the ship had mentioned the Ascali’s attitude change.

  “Yeah. I miss Sar, too,” Kivita murmured. She shut the door to the mist ionizer and bathed.

  Afterward Kivita sat on her bed, a soft Tannocci affair with thermal blankets and a ply pillow. Her garments lay scattered about the floor and bed, while Cheseia’s hung in her locker, neat and pressed. Yeah, so what? Kivita didn’t have time to clean her room, anyway. As she stepped into her underwear, Kivita wondered what really bothered Cheseia. She snuggled into her maroon bodyglove, polyboots, and black leather chaps.

  Kivita spotted two Bellerion carb sticks on Cheseia’s bed. Though Luccan’s Wish possessed an adequate larder, she knew the galley lacked such delicacies.

  Cheseia could have gotten the bars only from Frevyx. Maybe that’s where she was?

  Moments later, Kivita hurried out. Traffic in the ship’s corridors had thinned already, though few guards remained at key positions, to be relieved in two-week shifts. Passing through the deck’s cryo chamber, Kivita glanced over the assigned pods. Cheseia’s numbered among the empty ones.

  She hurried to the nearest elevator and descended to Level Eight.

  Airlock Eight was empty save for supply crates and blinking terminals. The lamps had already dimmed. Kivita walked toward Frevyx’s magnetized airlock.

  “Cheseia? Hey, you in there?” She pounded on the trawler’s airlock hatch.

  No answer.

  Biting her lip, Kivita focused on the armored keypad beside the airlock. Sar had never told her his personal code sequence, and neither had Cheseia. Concentrating, Kivita stretched out with her mind. Cold pain rose in her temples, but she forced it away, using her recent Savant training. Kivita tuned her thoughts to the lock, its circuits, its mechanism.

  The pulses from her brain sent and received information from the keypad. Numbers entered her mind.