Earthrise (Her Instruments Book 1)

by Hogarth, M. C. A.

  “He’s not mine to waste!” Reese exclaimed.

  “Of course he is. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

  “Figured what out?” Reese asked, gripping her fork harder.

  Natalie only shook her head. “Read more carefully, girl. And finish your coffee there, before it gets cold.”

  Try as she could, Reese got no more information out of the writer than that, and though she ate more cake than she intended in her pursuit, Natalie cheerfully offered no more insight. Standing outside the Harat-Shariin’s house and staring at the stars, Reese reflected that while dinner had been pleasant, she’d gotten even less information out of Natalie than she’d ever gotten out of Hirianthial....

  Except for the paintings. The beautiful paintings.

  With a shiver, Reese headed back to her hammock.

  After the child survived, Jarysh showed active reluctance whenever Hirianthial left to discharge his duties to Irine and Sascha’s mother. Had he not already promised those hours, he would have gladly given them to the hospital. Where once thirty doctors worked, including five surgeons, now only ten reported... and of those ten, only Hirianthial and Jarysh had residential contracts. The hospital was a permanent home for forty children with diseases crippling and chronic enough to require full-time care, and the ward offered beds to those who needed only occasional check-ups. Two doctors alone weren’t sufficient to the task. Without enough full-time employees to keep track of the residents, Hirianthial often found them trailing him through the halls when he did his rounds on the transients or draping across nearby furniture while he attempted to repair the single Medimage platform the hospital owned.

  He was no mechanic but the set-up had come with a basic repair manual; it had contained a long block of explanation on how the Pad technology had made the Medimage platforms possible and then a smaller set of pages instructing Pad technicians on the differences and similarities between the two. He’d glanced through them, picking up several bits of trivia about lights and quantum tunnel disruption before flipping to the troubleshooting sections. Lying flat on his back beneath the raised floor of the operating room he could just see the solidigraphic diagrams projected by the manual; if necessary, he could turn the projector with a foot to examine it from a different angle and continue work.

  When the children used his midriff as a pillow he didn’t complain. Their thoughts were so thin and tired they barely sank past his shields. More than the discomfort of stiff muscles or the ache that drove him to bed, those tiny flickers of thought made him feel his age.

  “We really shouldn’t let them do this,” Jarysh said from the door one day, voice thick with too little sleep. “If they separate they might have a seizure in some corner and we’d never know it.”

  “I can feel them,” Hirianthial said shortly, squinting into a mass of conflicting circuitry and wondering which relay needed replacement. He felt along their seams.

  “Feel them... even without touching?” Jarysh asked.

  “I wouldn’t mention it otherwise,” Hirianthial said.

  “And you know where they are? And how to get to them?”

  “Yes,” Hirianthial said.

  “Even when you’re sleeping? Would it wake you up?”

  Beneath the platform, Hirianthial paused to consider. “I don’t know.”

  “Because... well, maybe we both could sleep more if that was the case.” The Harat-Shar rubbed his forehead. “They climb over the bed rails and go wandering sometimes. Gives me nightmares.”

  Hirianthial had shared them, but didn’t say so. The place felt abandoned and desperate and listless, a disorienting combination that left him feeling anchorless in a deep melancholy. He wasn’t sure if his daily excursions out of the hospital exacerbated the problem or blunted its edge, but he kept the feelings tightly reined. Espers were rare among the Pelted outside of the Glaseahn race, but some individuals still developed the talent and children were especially sensitive to emotional pollution.

  “I think we need to replace this card,” Hirianthial said. “That might be all we have to do to have the platform work again.”

  “Sounds worth a try,” Jarysh said. After a moment, he said, “Can you get up? There’s a girl on your stomach.”

  “I’m not sure,” Hirianthial said. “She’s asleep.” When one of Jarysh’s footsteps sounded close, the Eldritch said, “No... let her be. She was very tired and if you try to move her she might wake.”

  “I can’t just leave you on the floor,” Jarysh said, exasperated.

  Remembering the insistent throb of pain that had sent the girl on her wanders, Hirianthial said, “I’ll get up later, after she rises.”

  “At least let me bring you a pillow. You’ve only got a couple of hours before you have to head to your other job.”

  “Is it that late already?”

  “Or that early, depending on your skew.”

  “A pillow would be welcome,” Hirianthial said.

  He didn’t expect to sleep, but once he’d resigned himself to the floor he surprised himself by dropping unconscious as soon as he’d settled the pillow beneath his head. He woke to a dense, thin finger of worry tapping him near his foot.

  “You need to go,” Jarysh said. Clearing his throat, he added, “I’m sorry about touching you. I thought the boot would be least offensive.”

  “Thank you,” Hirianthial said. The girl was drowsing on Jarysh’s shoulder and did not radiate the frustration that had driven her to follow him, and that was the best he could ask given her condition. He brushed himself off and headed to the estate.

  He’d thought when he took the hospital contract that it would prove the more difficult of the tasks. It was significantly more grueling, physically; emotionally he found it depressing, but depression concerning patients who would never recover and would die long before their time was at least a phenomenon he was familiar with.

  Salaena, on the other hand, drove him to distraction. She would have been perfectly at home in the courts he’d left behind. Her anxiety was so extreme she refused to be comforted; she would not allow him the medical tests he could have used to diagnose the precise chemical imbalance that threatened her mind’s brittle well-being. His only success involved mildly sedative teas, and he prepared her one before even entering the chamber to see how she was.

  “Good morning, lady,” he said. “I have your tea.”

  “I don’t want tea,” Salaena said, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Don’t sulk,” Karya said. “If the doctor says you must have tea, then you must have tea.”

  “I don’t want it. The stuff you bring smells like grass,” she said.

  “I also brought a selection of fruits, cookies and cheeses,” Hirianthial said. “Let us break our fast.”

  “I’ve already eaten,” Salaena said. “You eat, if you’re hungry.”

  “Surely you’d enjoy a little cup of tea?” Karya said. “Sit with us, enjoy the day.”

  “I don’t have time to enjoy the day,” she said. “I have to plan.”

  “What for?” Karya asked, though Hirianthial had an idea of the answer.

  “For my baby. Just in case something happens,” Salaena said, eyes drifting out the window. “You can’t be too careful.”

  “For the last time, girl, you’re not dying. Now come here and drink your tea or I’ll pour it down your throat.”

  Salaena shivered. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “We’ll take the tea, then,” Hirianthial said. “Join us if you like.”

  She didn’t like. He and Karya ate, the latter with forced enthusiasm. In a whisper, the midwife said, “Maybe music would calm her.”

  “I don’t sing,” Hirianthial said.

  The old woman laughed. “No, I wouldn’t think so. I can bring some people in.”

  “It may help.”

  But it didn’t. Salaena couldn’t concentrate on the musicians. The energy required for worry simply failed to be available for Hirianthial, but her behavior wa
s abnormal and demanded repair. He edged the tisane closer to her elbow until in her distraction she began to drink it and calm.

  “There now, wasn’t that delightful?” Karya asked.

  “No,” Salaena said. “They were too loud.”

  “Babies can hear through the walls of the womb,” Karya said. “If you didn’t enjoy it perhaps your son did.”

  “A son,” Salaena murmured. “Or a daughter.”

  “Or twins,” Karya said, ears flicking forward. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  “Twins would kill me,” Salaena said listlessly. She tilted the tea cup. “I guess I was thirsty.”

  “The tea is good for you,” Karya said. “It calms the soul.”

  Salaena drew herself upright with a quivering tension that set off alarms in Hirianthial. “You mean it’s medicine?”

  Perhaps alerted by the same signs, Karya did not reply.

  “It is medicine, isn’t it!” Salaena said.

  “Yes,” Hirianthial finally said. “A very mild kind. Nothing harmful to you or your baby. Do you not feel better after drinking it?”

  “Yes... but it’s medicine,” Salaena said. “What if... what if something changes, and it does harm me? Or I drink too much? Or not enough?”

  “I wouldn’t allow that,” Hirianthial said.

  “You’re not here all the time!” Salaena threw the cup aside. “I won’t drink it again. Only water from now on! Water can’t hurt me. Unless... no. The water is fine.”

  Karya sighed.

  “Water then,” Hirianthial said, and wondered how he’d keep the girl calm enough to carry to term.

  As if only just noticing the long-suffering of her caretakers, Salaena blinked several times, very slowly. Then she said, “What? I’m in terrible danger.”

  “No,” Hirianthial said. “You are in the best of circumstances. You are young and in fine health. Your body was built to bear children.”

  “No it wasn’t,” Salaena said. “Everyone says so. My hips are too small.”

  “The breadth of your hips is immaterial in a civilization where your baby can be lifted out of your abdomen in half an hour with no effort on your part,” Hirianthial said. “You should be thankful you live in a modern city with excellent medical facilities and an excess of caregivers and that you aren’t forced to give birth in a cold, damp hovel, straining for days because no one has the expertise to save you.”

  Salaena gaped at him. She turned to Karya to find the midwife nodding her head. “Just so, girl.”

  “But I could die!” Salaena said.

  “You will die,” Hirianthial said. “Everyone dies. Whatever gave you the notion that you’d live forever?”

  The girl gasped.

  “Even him,” Karya said. “Even the likes of him.”

  Hirianthial poured a new cup of tea, set it on the warmer in front of Salaena and said, “Drink.” When she made no move toward it, he said in a crisper voice, “Drink and be glad to be under the care of two professionals.”

  She drank, but by that time Hirianthial didn’t care.

  Waitress-work didn’t agree with Reese, particularly for clientele that half the time was more determined to invite her home than to order cake and coffee. She left the cafe for her mid-day breaks, struggling with her foul mood, and returned only because she didn’t like any of her alternatives. If she lingered too long with the twins, they might feel compelled to introduce her to the rest of their family and she wasn’t sure she could handle the culture shear. Nor did she want to trap herself in her room, staring at a list of bills that her paltry tips did little to reduce. Living here was cheaper than any other choice she could have come up with, but nothing would be cheap enough to make the repairs go faster.

  Every other day she stopped at the port to see how the first set of mechanics were handling the Earthrise. She’d just finished one of those inspections when the sky let loose a wall of rain. Cursing, Reese darted under the awning of a pastry-seller’s cart.

  “I didn’t think it rained here!” she said.

  The man laughed. “You spacers are so funny. Of course it rains.”

  Reese glowered at the sky. Why did planets have to have weather along with all their other unsavory characteristics? “But there were no clouds when I went inside!”

  “There were clouds,” the man said. “They just weren’t rain clouds yet. We’re just touching the rainy season now. In few weeks we’ll have storms all the time. I hope you like being wet.”

  Reese glared at him. He chuckled. “Guess not. Why don’t you wait it out at an ale house?”

  “I don’t drink,” Reese said.

  “They have food,” he said. “Or do you also not need to eat?” When she didn’t reply, he went on. “It’s going to last a good half hour, forty minutes. You’re a pretty girl, but if you’re not going to buy anything I’d prefer you moved on. Unless you want to pass the time some other way?”

  “An ale house sounds good,” Reese said. “Thanks.”

  His laughter rang in her ears as she darted into the shifting gray veils. They looked sort of pretty when you weren’t in them... as if they’d be soft and cool to the touch, not at all wet. Naturally she was drenched almost instantly. Rain drops smacked her face and eyelids. She felt trapped between the steam rising from the ground and the falling water, and she was sure she’d never smelled anything as nasty as hot rain on pavement.

  The first dim shape she rushed for turned out to be a parts store. The second smelled like fried fish and Reese traded the rain for an entry that worked like an airlock, releasing her into a tiny antechamber that gave her a chance to shake herself off and wring her braids. Even so as she stepped into the crowded room she started shivering. She took the only seat left in the place, squeezing between two taller men at the bar, and ordered hot coffee.

  She’d barely had time to dilute the stuff with cream before the Harat-Shar on one side of her said, “There are rooms upstairs.”

  “That’s nice,” Reese said.

  He canted his ears. “Is that a brush-off?”

  “Yes,” Reese said. “Thanks for asking.”

  The human on the other side of her laughed. She glared at him, but he said nothing.

  The coffee had little power to warm her while her clothes remained wet. Reese resigned herself to shivering. It wasn’t even good coffee. She could have gotten better from the cafe she’d abandoned.

  The Harat-Shar beside her forced his way back into the crowd and another man took his place. Reese was just beginning to notice that the clientele was a little rougher than she liked to deal with when the newcomer said, “You look shoved out.”

  Reese shrugged.

  “Come here often?”

  “I’m not interested,” Reese said, disgruntled.

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “Oh,” Reese said. “Good.”

  “You must not be from around here,” he went on.

  “What gave you that idea?” Reese asked.

  His turn to shrug, a hitch of one shoulder. “You have the spacer look. You got a crate here?”

  “Yeah,” Reese said.

  “Hauling freight or people?”

  “Why do you want to know?” Reese asked, a scowl forming despite her best efforts. The man had a craggy face, but he kept it shaved and his rough clothing seemed clean enough. She had no reason for her wariness except that she was wary of everyone and so far paranoia had kept her out of trouble.

  “I’m looking for freight haulers. Got a job for someone with grit.” He eyed her. “You got grit.”

  “Yeah, well,” Reese said. “I don’t just do jobs I pick up in a bar.”

  He glanced at the coffee, then shrugged again. “Pays a lot. We’d make it worth your while.”

  “We?” Reese asked.

  “I’m agenting. My boss’s off-world. Always looking for reliable merchants.”

  Her wariness ripened into a nice, juicy suspicion. “I don’t work with go-betweens.”

 
; “I can arrange a meeting, if you’re interested.” He smiled. “It would be worth it.”

  “Oh? How worth it?”

  He dunked a finger in her coffee before she could object and scrawled a figure on the bar, dark liquid on dark wood. Reese gaped at it as he wiped it away. She said, “I don’t run illegal cargo.”

  “It’s not illegal,” he said. “It’s just way far out in the frontier and getting it requires some legwork. Most people don’t want to bother.”

  “Nothing in the frontier is worth that kind of money,” Reese said, hardening herself against hope. The amount the man had written would take care of the repairs and then some. She wouldn’t have to ask for the loan.

  “Money’s where you make it,” the man said with a shrug. “If you’re interested—”

  “—I’d need more details,” Reese said.

  “No,” the man said. “You sign the contract. You find out what the boss wants. You get paid half. The other half on delivery. Those are the terms.”

  “You want me to agree to do something without telling me what it is?” Reese asked, staring at him.

  He grinned. “We pay enough for it. And it’s not illegal.”

  She wondered if its legality was due to some convoluted loophole. The chill in her bones was not solely her clammy clothing. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  He handed her a card. “If you decide, give us a call.”

  “Right,” Reese said. The man slid off the stool and was replaced by a Tam-illee pilot who drooped so far over his beer Reese wondered if he would dunk his muzzle in it. She ordered a fresh cup of coffee and drank it black, but instead of warming her it just made her feel wet on the inside to match her skin.

  The rain let up and she headed back to the cafe. The money was tempting, but Reese knew better. As embarrassing as her trip home would prove, a known quantity won over anything as potentially risky as entangling herself with nameless merchants who had too much money and required too much secrecy.

  “Do they bother you?” Jarysh asked.

  Hirianthial lay with eyes closed in the playroom adjacent to the ward. Two Harat-Shar children were using his long torso as a pillow; another sat near his foot, puzzling at a series of colored rings that had been interlocked a moment before. The sleepers dreamt in fragile washes of color, such delicate constructs they barely held the two minds unconscious; the pressure of their heads on his ribs seemed too heavy for the frailty of their slumber. “They’re children,” he said after a moment, keeping his voice too low to disturb the dreams.