by Tony Peak
“Well, hell.” She smiled. The keypad’s sequence consisted of the coordinates of Kravis, Gontalo’s sun. Surely Sar wasn’t so sentimental. The idea tickled her heart all the same.
Kivita keyed in the code. Frevyx’s airlock opened.
Light, heat, and fresh air emanated from within. The trawler’s life-support systems had been turned on.
“Cheseia?” Kivita called. Though she hadn’t been on the ship since her arrival, Sar’s personal scent still lingered in Frevyx’s air. Taking deep breaths, she strolled toward the bridge.
“How did you assuredly get in here?” Cheseia eyed Kivita from the bridge entrance. Grease stains soiled her tunic and breechcloth.
Kivita bristled at the Ascali’s accusing tone. “Hey, where have you been? Whole ship’s about to enter the next cryo shift. Besides, what are you doing in here? Got a hankering for carb sticks?”
Coming closer, Kivita made out Cheseia’s bloodshot stare. The Ascali’s mane had become disheveled, and her lithe, muscular figure was slimmer, as if she’d been skipping meals.
“What’s bothering you? I’ve missed you in Rhii’s galley.” Kivita meant it. In their time together, she and Cheseia had swapped stories about Sar and the places they’d traveled. Laughed over drinks at Rhii’s bar, played with Basheev in the gym.
Cheseia avoided Kivita’s stare.
“Well?” Kivita asked.
Sighing, Cheseia leaned on a bulkhead. “It is unfortunately only a matter of time before Sar will be truly found, if he has not been already. Terredyn Narbas’s beacon will definitely draw enemies to him.”
Kivita frowned and crossed her arms. “I try not to think about it. I feel so useless here, while he could be—”
“You certainly realize that once he is discovered, and you are not truly found aboard Terredyn Narbas, that the search will begin anew?” Cheseia sighed again.
“What are you really trying to say?”
“You delightfully think this is a vacation, Kivita. You certainly fawn over the Sages’ attention. You recklessly play with Basheev like he’s your son. You superbly tell salvager tales in the galley. Outside this ship, people are truly . . . suffering. My— I mean, Sar may be definitely suffering. You seem to have magically forgotten how hard it is to live in the cold void.”
Kivita grabbed Cheseia’s tunic. “Forgotten? I’ve dreamt of Sar, my father, and my mother for months. I’ve wondered all my life who I really am, then struggled to accept it. If I don’t talk about things out there, it’s because I’ve never had it so damn good. How many times have you wiped vacuum frost off your father’s placard? How many times have you paid for a cheap spaceport fuck and regretted it? Wondering why you keep going when you’ve got no one, nothing but a ship and the next jump, the next cryosleep?”
Shivering, Cheseia backed down. Kivita blinked in surprise. The Ascali had always been fearless in her stature and bearing.
“I am . . . I am so truly sorry. You are certainly right. Let us quickly go into cryostasis.” She took Kivita’s arm in a desperate grip.
Something pulsed in Kivita’s thoughts. The closer she came to the bridge, the stronger the pulses became: a repeating sequence.
“Come, Kivita.” Cheseia’s musical voice cracked. What was her problem? Kivita had never seen the statuesque Ascali so distraught.
A slight beeping sound came from the bridge.
Kivita shrugged off Cheseia’s hold. “All right, already. You going to shut down Frevyx’s systems or what?”
The pulse rang through Kivita’s mind, quiet but powerful. It seemed to pierce through the trawler’s hull and leap into the void outside.
“What the hell is—”
Kivita stepped into the bridge and paused. A green light on the console flashed in time with her mental pulses: an emergency beacon. Being in a light jump, all scanners on the Thede ship would have been deactivated. The signal’s broadcast had gone unnoticed by all aboard.
Anyone seeking Luccan’s Wish would now be able to do so.
A click sounded behind her.
“Goddamn you.” Kivita slowly turned. Stomach chills contrasted with the heat building in her cheeks.
Cheseia stood in the bridge entrance, aiming a kinetic pistol with both hands. Tears streamed down her furry cheeks.
“I truly did not want to fall tragically in love with Sar,” Cheseia whispered. “I just definitely wanted Zhara safe. The Rector unfortunately took her as his servant. I had virtually no choice!”
Kivita backed farther into the bridge. Tightness enclosed her heart and throat, and the sour taste of tension flooded her mouth. The dark-maned Ascali in Dunaar’s service with russet eyes . . . Cheseia speaking about her sister . . . the Ascali Blood Bond . . .
“A twin sister?” Kivita asked.
“I truly am sorry.” Cheseia’s gaze crumpled with sadness and regret.
“You shoot me, the others on board will hear. They’ll kill you. You can’t demagnetize from Luccan’s Wish during a jump, either. You’d be space dust.” Kivita’s jaw twitched. Damn her to the void!
“I certainly know.” Her moist eyes gleamed. “Tell Sar I truly did love him. Tell him . . .”
Cheseia aimed the pistol at her own head.
Kivita leapt without thinking, her right shoulder connecting with Cheseia’s right elbow.
A shot echoed throughout Frevyx.
Cheseia’s eyes rolled back and she collapsed. A hole smoked on the bulkhead behind them. Blood covered the floor.
“You bitch. You . . . Goddamn you!” Whimpering, Kivita cradled Cheseia in her arms. She didn’t want the Ascali to die. She wanted her to suffer for the forces sure to destroy Sar and the Thedes. Destroy all she loved and had come to love. Even Cheseia herself.
Kivita’s tears mingled with the line of blood along Cheseia’s right temple.
“I’ll . . . I’ll tell him.” The words came out in heaves. Kivita’s fingers brushed over the Ascali’s face, exquisite even in death.
A faint breath exited Cheseia’s lips.
Swallowing a sob, Kivita examined the wound. A deep graze.
Body numb, Kivita ripped off Cheseia’s tunic and bandaged the wound. The white garment reddened with blood.
Kivita crawled to the console, flicked off the emergency beacon, and keyed the radio to the frequency on Luccan’s Wish.
“Jandeel? Navon? Somebody send a medic to Frevyx at Airlock Eight! Hurry!”
“I truly . . . want to die,” Cheseia whispered in a weak voice.
Kivita knelt and pulled Cheseia against her chest. “Yeah, and I truly didn’t want to be your friend when I first met you. But, dammit, I am.”
Cheseia’s eyes widened. Her tears coursed over Kivita’s arms and made splotches in the blood on the floor. “You truly . . . ?” The Ascali fainted.
What would happen now? Cheseia had saved her life, had loved the same man she did, then betrayed Sar and her both. Kivita gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she should have let Cheseia end her life.
Deep in her heart, though, Kivita found no hatred. Spotting the Ascali’s blood on her new tattoo, a throb pierced her heart. How many would die so that others could live in peace, free of ignorance? All those video streams she’d seen while on Luccan’s Wish, showing Inheritor cruelty . . . Cheseia was the latest victim. Those who’d forced her friend to betray the Thedes gave Kivita a purpose.
“I swear I won’t stop until everyone is free.” Ignoring her own tears, Kivita kissed Cheseia’s forehead.
• • •
Four guards in polyarmor waited at the infirmary door while the Aldaakian medic finished with Cheseia. The sleeping Ascali had been given thogens, and a bandage now swathed her temples. Root-spice disinfectant permeated the air. Navon, Jandeel, and the other Sages stood nearby, while Kivita knelt beside Cheseia’s cot, her jaw
tight.
“She’ll recover with just a scratch. I recommend rest in cryostasis—where we all should be.” The medic left.
“You should have let her go through with it.” Jandeel scowled at Cheseia’s inert form. “There can be little doubt Sar Redryll has been taken. The Inheritors are following us even now.”
Kivita squeezed Cheseia’s hand and stood. “I know she’s done wrong. I know she’s not to be trusted. I’m angry, too. But I won’t let you kill her. What’s done is done. I say we focus on what we can change.”
Jandeel sighed. “Kivita, I’m not advocating her execution. But she cannot leave custody.”
“She is right: all our energies must be dedicated to what befalls us when we exit this jump,” Navon said. “No one, other than those in this room, can know our voyage has been compromised.”
“They have a right to know.” Jandeel crossed his arms. “You would lead us into a trap, blind?”
Navon’s brow creased. “No, but I think—”
“What did you want to tell me earlier?” Kivita stood between them. Arguing would get them nowhere. She’d been nowhere most of her life. Now it was time to leave it.
Navon paced between the other cots, hands behind his back. “We have finally deciphered the name of the coordinates’ destination. They lead to a red-giant star system called Bos-Euex. Nothing is known to exist there.”
“But nobody’s ever explored this system, right? Those coordinates don’t even exist in Inheritor charting. No beacon signals from Vim derelicts, nothing.” Kivita shifted her feet, not wanting to leave Cheseia’s side. With everyone after her since the salvage on Vstrunn, Kivita felt responsible for Cheseia’s predicament. Someone had maneuvered them both like pieces on a Tannocci chessboard.
“I fear we are being led along on this course.” Navon stopped pacing. “The Inheritors and Sarrhdtuu have gone to great lengths to use you and then hunt you, Kivita.”
“What else can we do?” The Naxan Sage clicked twice.
“There’s never been a Vim signal in any of the recorded histories,” Jandeel said. “We must investigate it. This is what Luccan himself hoped for, Navon.”
Kivita cleared her throat. “Maybe we haven’t dug deep enough.”
Navon looked at her, brows knitted. “Explain yourself.”
“What if I pool information from all the datacores we have? I haven’t studied every one yet—and never at the same time.” Kivita raised her brows and cocked her head to one side.
“Can you handle that?” Jandeel asked.
“No, she cannot. No one ever has.” Navon wrung his hands and neared Kivita. “You are gifted, but even you might burn out your brain with that sort of activity. There is no guarantee that all the knowledge stored in our datacores is still valid. Some of this data may have become obsolete centuries ago.”
She clasped both his hands in hers; his thick ones dwarfed her slender ones. “We need answers more than ever. I can hold it—I know. Everything I’ve been taught by you all or shown by a datacore, I can repeat verbatim. If we’re heading for a trap, then we might be dead already. C’mon. We have nothing to lose.”
“We can’t lose you,” Jandeel said.
“You won’t,” Kivita said.
“We will gather in my quarters,” Navon said. “Jandeel, retrieve the datacores from the library.”
Cheseia murmured on her cot. Kivita walked over and knelt beside her, while the others filed toward the infirmary door.
“I should truly, certainly die,” Cheseia moaned.
“Hush. Things have been set into motion now. Just rest and heal up.”
“And then what? I certainly have no future now,” Cheseia said.
“That might go for the rest of us. You see me quitting?” Kivita clasped her hand. “Most won’t forgive you for this. Maybe I shouldn’t, either. You won’t be executed, but I can’t promise anything besides that. What did Dunaar Thev tell you? What did he want?”
“The Rector only truly wanted the location of Luccan’s Wish. I also assuredly told him that Sar had loved you once. I have been so surely jealous of you. After Tejuit, when I saw how Sar definitely wanted you, and now this . . . I hate myself.” Tears welled in Cheseia’s eyes.
“And Zhara?”
“She and I secretly stowed aboard a Thede sympathizer’s starship and left Sygma.” Cheseia winced and touched her right temple. “Months after we left, Inheritor agents unfortunately captured my sister. I was ordered to lovingly attach myself to Sar. Ascali Blood Bond forced me to certainly honor Zhara’s life, being her sister. She truly wanted to see other worlds. . . .”
“So, why didn’t your mother come along?” Kivita asked in a whisper.
Cheseia gave her a sad smile. “She surely still worshipped Revelas, god of the Ascali on Sygma. She definitely thought we were heretics to think Revelas was just a silly starship, and that we should certainly not travel the Cetturo Arm. She tragically disowned Zhara and me, the greatest insult in Ascali society. I unfortunately have not seen her since.”
Kivita touched her hand. “You ever think about her?”
“Every day.” Cheseia touched the braid in Kivita’s hair. “Maybe you can skillfully braid me one later.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Kivita rose and exited the infirmary. Navon waited in the corridor.
“She might not have revealed those things under interrogation,” Navon said. “Her sorrow is palpable, I must admit. An Ascali regards a Blood Bond breakable only by death.”
“I can’t bring myself to despise her. She doesn’t need any pity, either.”
“Nobility really does come from within, not from a crown,” he said.
Shaking her head, Kivita touched the wrist tattoo. Cheseia’s blood still stained the skin around it. “I’m not a queen.”
He linked arms with her and headed for the nearest elevator. “You may not have a choice any longer.”
29
As Navon led Kivita into his quarters, his gentle yet firm grip on her arm eased some of her tension. Jandeel and the other Sages waited inside, their faces grim. The Juxj Star, along with all the datacores the Thedes possessed, lay on a grass mat.
“Remember your training,” Navon said. “Do not force the knowledge from the datacores.”
Taking a deep breath, Kivita moved toward the mat. Jandeel touched her shoulder. “If you falter . . .”
Kivita sat on the mat, the datacores ringing her like a barrier. Shielding her from what may be coming.
This might be it. She took another deep breath, trying to calm her rising pulse. What she’d always wanted lay ahead: discovering what was really out there. The more she learned from her new friends and the datacores, the more she wanted to know.
The more she learned, the more she realized just how much she didn’t know.
Closing her eyes, Kivita concentrated on the stones, crystals, and the Juxj Star. One by one their specific ambiences touched her mind, each one different. The crystals were bright, scintillating pulses of data, while the rocks crunched against her mind. The Juxj Star tried to flood her thoughts like before. Electrical sensations traveled along her scalp, penetrating her cranium.
The usual cold pain started in her temples, but this time it varied in degrees of intensity as each datacore threatened to batter down her psyche. Sweat traveled down her back. It hurt to breathe. Kivita licked her lips and repeated Navon’s instruction in her consciousness.
Focus. Attune. Absorb.
“Slowly,” Navon whispered, his voice miles away.
Concentrating, she compiled all the data signatures from the items. Kivita shivered as numbers, letters, and images pushed at the walls of her consciousness. Where before the datacores had offered glimpses, now they displayed long, branching paths. Countless lifetimes passed in her mind, and Kivita clasped her persona by a thin thread of willpower. So mu
ch data flooding her like an ocean . . . Mouthing a silent cry, Kivita channeled it all into one stream. Imagery and numbers from separate datacores linked and combined.
All of it led to a yellow star ringed by Vim starships.
Viewpoints shifted in Kivita’s mind, each becoming a snapshot of the scene. The ships resembled those she’d seen before, siphoning energy from the main sequence star. In one image the vessels appeared stable, well-maintained. Next, each one had deteriorated to drifting hulks filled with energy dumps, datacores, and blobs of green jelly.
The floor seemed to vanish beneath her, and she wobbled. Her temples throbbed.
“Kivita?” Navon’s voice sounded farther away than the vistas in her thoughts.
Without answering, she concentrated anew. Focus, attune, absorb. Willing the headache away, Kivita kept the stream of data going.
The Vim derelicts now orbited various stars: red giants, aging orange suns, young blue ones, or antediluvian white dwarfs. In each case, the basic orbital distance remained the same between the ships and the sun.
Just like all the wreckage in the Cetturo Arm.
Swaying, she spread her arms to steady herself. Breaths came in heavy gasps.
“Wait—let her keep going,” Jandeel whispered.
The imagery transformed into a scorched, body-ridden starship bridge. A cracked, hundred-foot-tall viewport showed a healthy yellow sun in the distance. Sarrhdtuu warriors in carapace armor waited, while the viewer stepped over a dying Kith. Coils tightened around the viewer’s waist.
“No,” Kivita mumbled as sharp pains lanced into her skull.
The Sarrhdtuu squeezed, and the viewer, thrashing in pain, accessed a terminal by thought alone. Readouts along the holo console indicated the ship had begun siphoning the star’s hydrogen, disrupting its internal-fusion process.
Kivita coughed. Her fingertips burned.
The scene changed. Now the same bridge was covered in vacuum frost. The star outside had swelled into a massive red giant.
The data flow altered and displayed several Ascali gathered in a circle on an arboreal world covered in green foliage. As one, the Ascali raised their gorgeous voices in song. Within the circle, a captive Sarrhdtuu warrior lay stunned by the aural resonance. Memories of Rhyer’s journeys to Sygma, and Shekelor’s comment about Cheseia on Tejuit, nudged her curiosity.