“Have you been manipulating us?” said El.
“Sure,” said Grace. “I’ve manipulated this asshole,” and again, her toe into Kohl’s stomach, “into choking the life from me. I manipulated the Ravana’s reactor into blowing up. Hell, I manipulated an entire alien race into attacking us.” She sighed. “Try not to be as stupid as Kohl. He’s more than enough for one ship.”
The machine attached to Nate beeped, the display changing from red to amber. He opened his eyes. “What’s it say? Am I dying?”
“Yes,” said Grace, “but now at the same speed as the rest of us.”
“The same … what?”
“You’re fine,” said Grace. “You’ll be fine.” Not like me. You’ll either kill me, or leave me here. You’ve got to. You can’t make any other choice.
“Great,” said Nate. “Get me the fuck out of this thing. I’ve got a ship to fly.”
“So I was thinking,” said Grace. “It’d be great if you could just let me off somewhere. With people.” Please don’t leave me here. Not with them.
“What?” said Nate. “No.”
He’s going to leave me here. She could feel the sickness in her stomach return, and she bowed her head. “I understand. Because of what I am. What I’ve done.”
“Half right,” said Nate, levering himself up on one elbow. The machine emitted a harsh alarm, and he slapped at the console until it shut off. “What you’ve done? Sure, sure. You lied. Hell, you lied to all of us, and that’s a thing I can’t let slide.”
She nodded. “I understand. I’ll—”
“Haven’t finished,” said Nate. “It’ll cost you a completion bonus, best case scenario. Most of your share. Need to think about it.”
“What?” said Grace.
“I think that’s fair,” said Nate.
“Wait—” said El.
“Unngh,” said Kohl.
“Haven’t finished,” said Nate. “Y’all seem to forget who is the captain of the Tyche. It’s not any of you. If you don’t like it, airlock’s that way.” He pointed in the general direction of the aft of the ship. “Y’all also forget what’s happened so far. Hope would have been taken by the Navy if it weren’t for Grace.”
“But—” said El.
“Capnnn,” said Kohl.
“Still haven’t finished,” said Nate. He was zipping himself back into his flight suit. “Now Kohl, I know that you want Hope to be left out there as well. You share the Republic’s views on this sort of thing. That’s between you and them. On my ship, it doesn’t matter. Never has, and never will. And I’ll remind you, without Hope, and what she did, we’d be spread atom-thin in a part of space no one goes to. We’d all be dead, and no one would know what happened to us. Without Hope, the Tyche wouldn’t be flying. Isn’t that right, El?”
“But Captain,” said El. “We’re not talking about Hope—”
“Isn’t,” said Nate, his smile growing fixed, “that right, Helm?”
“Sir,” said El. “That’s right.”
“This is all about Grace,” said Nate. “Hell, the Republic are after her, but she still put herself in harm’s way to help me and mine. That makes her one of us, don’t you see? Don’t you all see?” He looked at the floor, then back up. “This isn’t hard unless you make it hard. Hope fixed the Tyche. Better than new.”
“Cap,” said Hope. “I just—”
“Haven’t finished,” said Nate, and then softened. “Sorry, Hope. You rest now. Without what Grace did, when she had no reason to know us, or to trust us, we would have lost our Engineer. No Engineer, no Tyche. Simple as that.”
“Fuck,” said Kohl. “It.”
“Kohl, I’m glad you’re joining the conversation, because back in that city? Back in Absalom Delta. You were down for the count. We were all going to die. Do you remember who saved your ass?” Nate leaned down, clapped the big man on the shoulder. “Do you remember?”
“Uh,” said Kohl.
“That’s right,” said Nate. “It was Grace. Now, I’m about ready for some sleep. I’m going to go to my cabin, and I’m going to lock the door. When I wake up, everyone on this ship will still be alive. No one will kill anyone else. Am I being fairly clear?”
“Sir,” said El.
“Nate,” said Grace. “It’s okay.”
“I said,” said Nate, “am I being fairly clear?”
Grace felt something in her chest, the flutter of a moth’s wings. She hadn’t felt it for years. It was hope. “Yes,” she said.
“Damn,” said Kohl, “it.”
“I’ll take that as a yes also,” said Nate. “Kohl, you remember this. You remember that when you were at Grace Gushiken’s feet, after you’d tried to kill her, she let you live. You think on that some.” He gave Grace a wink, then let himself out of sickbay. His boots clanking on the metal decking faded into the distance.
“Sorry,” said Grace, because she had nothing else to say.
“Are you?” said El. She was looking at Grace, her eyes hard, her voice harder. “I swear—”
“I’ve got something for you,” said Hope. She got herself upright, swaying. Grace moved to her side, held her arm. Helped her stay on an even keel. Hope looked at Grace, really looked at her. Not what she was, or what she could do. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Grace followed Hope’s lead from the sickbay, still holding her upright. They left El and Kohl behind. Whether for good or ill, it was impossible to say, but Grace suspected she’d stay alive long enough for Nate to finish his nap.
• • •
Engineering was dark, the murmur of machines making a gentle background noise. Hope was walking on her own now, leading the way. Inside, she paused, then bent to pick up the bent remains of her rig. She held it up. “Penn,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Strong,” said Grace.
“Not human,” said Hope. “I don’t know how long for. I’ve sent files to your console. About what they were doing down here. About what they learned.”
“He was becoming a new Queen,” said Grace.
“How do you know?” said Hope.
“For a time,” said Grace, “I was … together with them. I saw hints, flashes. Penn was the start of something new.”
“Here it is,” said Hope, her hands moving through the pieces of machinery on her workbench. She held up her find: Grace’s sword. Hope walked over to Grace, then held the sword out to her. “You threw it away.”
“It was broken,” said Grace. “It wasn’t worth keeping.”
“Say that next time Kohl has his hands around your throat,” said Hope, the hint of a smile on her lips. “Go on. Check it out.”
Grace drew the blade. She knew what she’d see — the silver of the metal gleaming its way free of the scabbard, right up to the fractured tooth it had become, a foot down the blade. As the blade came free from the scabbard, she saw the metal, and then she saw … more metal. The blade was whole again, the jagged stump that had been left after Grace’s encounter with the Ezeroc replaced with new, gleaming metal. She looked at Hope. “How?” Then, “Why?”
“How is easy. I set up the fab to print a new blade.” Hope frowned. “Well, easy isn’t quite right. I couldn’t drop-forge that sucker. Because we don’t have a forge. And I’m no smith, you know? Ha. But it’s printed the best I know how. No imperfections in the steel.”
Grace swung the sword, the weapon feeling right in her hand. Like she was used to. Not like Nate’s sword, with its straight blade and unfamiliar weight. “Okay,” said Grace. “Why?”
“Oh,” said Hope. “Because you needed it.” She turned away, hefting her broken rig. “Now I need to fix this.”
Grace reached out a tentative hand, touching Hope’s elbow. “Thank you,” she said.
Hope stood still, frozen by the touch, then relaxed. She turned to Grace, then grabbed her in a hug. The young woman was crying, and Grace was confused, buffeted by the emotions pouring off her. She reached a cautious hand around Hope,
hugging her back. When Hope had stopped crying, she said, almost as a whisper, “Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave our home.”
Grace leaned her head forward against the top of Hope’s, pink hair under her nose. “I won’t,” she said. “I don’t think I’d know how. Not anymore.”
• • •
Grace knocked on Nate’s cabin. Hard, with the hilt of her sword, clang-clang-clang.
Nate opened it, eyes befuddled, shirt half open. “Wha..?”
“You,” said Grace, “owe me a story. About a sword, and where it came from. I gave you my story, and now you need to give me yours.”
“I … sleeping,” said Nate.
“You can sleep later,” said Grace.
“I’m the captain,” said Nate, almost hopefully.
She pushed past him into the room. She saw the sword. Nate had placed it on top of the chest she’d stolen it from what felt like weeks ago, but was only hours. He hasn’t put it away. He hasn’t hidden it again. She pointed at it. “Tell me.”
“It’s better if I show you,” said Nate, standing still at the doorway for a second. She could see the metal of his hand resting against the sill. He sighed, walked next to her, and said, “Tell me what you see.”
Grace looked at him, felt concern/not-trust/friend/trust coming from him. “You’re wondering if you can trust me.”
“Yes,” said Nate. “I’m becoming more sure though.” He reached for the sword, his flesh hand closing around the hilt.
He vanished.
She gaped. He was still there; her eyes told her he was right in front of her, but his mind had gone quiet, like it didn’t exist. Like he was dead. He held the sword up. “Now tell me what you see.”
“You’re … not there.” She reached a hand out to touch him. Her fingers found his chest. Solid. Real. “What is it?”
“Doesn’t have a name,” he said, not moving her fingers. She pulled them back, all of a sudden, like they’d been burned. This feeling of someone without the someone was … alien. Magical.
Wonderful.
Nate was still holding the sword between them. “At least, I don’t think it has a name. There weren’t many made. Maybe just one.”
“It … hides you?” Grace wanted to touch him again, for the thrill of not feeling the endless cascade of human emotions that always came with it. She reached out a hand, cautious, tentative, to lay her fingers against his arm. Nothing. Nothing traveled that physical link, other than the warmth of another human, out here on the edge of the hard black.
“I don’t know,” said Nate. Oblivious, she guessed, to the wonder she felt. If he could feel what she was feeling, he would see it as grateful/thankful/joy. But he never would, so she would just have to enjoy it alone. Like all other people were alone. For as long as it lasted. Nate was still speaking, and she tried to focus, removing her hand again. “I guess that’s it. A part of it, anyway. But it also makes it so that the Intelligencers can’t fuck with my mind.” He tapped the side of his head with his metal hand. “When you’re holding this sword, skin on the metal, you’re free. Free of any outside influence. It’s why I think … I think I know I can trust you.”
“What?” she said.
“Because of how I feel when I’m not holding it. It’s the same as how I feel now.” He touched her chin. “I feel like I should trust you, Grace Gushiken.”
“You should?” she said, the feeling of his fingers without the curse of another person’s emotions a wonder, a revelation.
“Yeah.” His face was open, and she suspected without the sword, his heart would be too. You are on the edge of something marvelous. A rare, curious thing: this man wants to trust you. Really wants to, so you need to make it right. You need to be worthy of it. “Yeah, I think so.”
She folded his hand in hers, then pulled him down beside her on the edge of the bed. Not some wanton display, but carefully, like his hand was made of snowflakes and all around was fire. “I guess I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I want you to. I guess I don’t know why. I guess … I guess I don’t deserve it.”
He sighed. “None of us deserve it. We’ve all done,” and here, his eyes flicked towards the chest at the end of his bed, “terrible things. The trick, as near as I can work out, is to stop doing terrible things when you realize.”
She frowned, looking down at his hand, in hers. It was the metal one, and she hadn’t considered that when she’d taken it. Just grabbed on to him, wanting to make it all real. Grace realized she didn’t care he had a metal hand, despite what her father would have said. He would have called Nate half a man and dismissed him, like he’d always dismissed her. Her father had always thought of her as a mongrel/failure. She looked at the sword he held, then the sword she held, and laughed.
“What?” said Nate. “I’ve got to admit, this is weird. We’re sitting in a bed holding hands, but … well, it’s weird.” But he didn’t pull away from her.
It wasn’t everyday a man followed her into a den of horrible monsters, even when he knew she might be the worst monster of them all. That showed dedication. “Not knowing. It’s … different. I can’t tell what you were feeling.” She smiled through the cascade of her hair. “The gentle quiet. It feels … like a miracle.”
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do here. Uncharted waters, Grace.” His voice was low and quiet. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know … I don’t know what I want.”
“You want me to stop lying,” said Grace. “To you.”
“Hell,” said Nate. “That'd be nice, but whatever. What I want is for you to decide.”
“Okay,” said Grace. Still sitting there in the quiet of his cabin, a human next to her without their emotions boiling up to consume her. She laughed, and didn’t know why. “Okay.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When the klaxon went off, Nate was still feeling stupid.
He’d sat with Grace in his cabin for what seemed an hour, talking of little things. She still holding his damn metal hand, and laughing when he said things. He’d asked her why she laughed and she’d said because I didn’t see what you said coming … for the first time, I’m surprised.
Their conversation had wound down like an old clock, the distances between the ticks and tocks getting longer. She’d leaned forward, whispered thank you, Nathan Chevell into his ear. He’d felt the brush of her lips on his cheek, and then she was gone, feet clanking with purpose down the metal halls of the Tyche.
Nate wanted more than that brushed kiss after an hour of talking with her. He should have been sleeping. Nate should have been patching things up with Kohl and El. He should have been seeing how Hope was getting on. But he couldn’t pull himself away, like he was supposed to talk to her. And that left him slow-headed, dumb with some fool emotion or other, and that was no way for the captain to be. The captain had to be above all that. The captain had to be…
Human. Nate, you’re only human.
He pushed that thought down. The captain had to be better than human. Because there were a bunch of other people who depended on him to be so much more.
The lips against his cheek had still left him feeling stupid, despite what his rational mind had said. And then the klaxon had sounded. He jumped to the console, almost tripping over the sword he still held — you came in handy, after all — and pushed the comm. “What the hell,” he said, “is that fucking noise?”
“That fucking noise is a collision alarm with rocks raining from the sky,” said El. “You had enough sleep?”
“No,” said Nate. “Why are their rocks? Aren’t the Ezeroc on the other side of the planet?”
“No,” said El. “You’d better get up here.”
Fucking fuck. Those damn bugs just didn’t quit. One thing was for sure though. They wanted to infect his crew. They wanted to take humans, and — a strange thought nudged him — maybe Grace more than anyone else. Like she had a connection with them. Like they wanted to eat up espers. Good luck to them. They could have all
the rest of the espers in the universe except this one.
This one was … his.
• • •
He hit the flight deck at a run, siding into his acceleration couch. El was working on her console, the holo stage alight with telemetry. Lots of incoming rocks.
She tossed him a look. “What’s with the sword?”
“Uh,” he said.
“Never mind. What’s with the open shirt?”
“I—”
“Cap, you need to get your shit together,” said El. “We are under attack.”
He zipped up his flight suit. “It’s been a long morning. Or evening. What time is it?”
“Technically, it’s morning. Dawn’s coming.” El looked over at him. “It’s me who should be sorry. I was … out of line, before.”
“Save it,” said Nate. “Tell me the important stuff. We can get all mushy later.”
“You’re the boss,” she said, her finger stabbing at points of light in the holo. “Here, we have our basic asteroids becoming meteors. There’s no aiming on those, just a bunch of what we would call carpet-bombing. At least I’m guessing there’s no aiming because they’re not coming at us.”
“Why didn’t we—”
“See them coming? Yeah.” El tapped on the console, the holo pulling out. “Here, we’ve got the planet. A while ago we lost the link to the orbital satellites around Absalom Delta. Offline or some shit, Hope could tell you more.”
“I didn’t know this why?” said Nate.
“You were doing white-knighting,” said El. “In the woods, and then you got your fool self hurt, and since then you’ve been,” and here she made air quotes, “’sleeping.’”
“I was—”
“It doesn’t matter,” said El. “What does matter, since you want just the important stuff, is that it looks like at least one of them will impact,” and here, El made the holo draw a line between one rock and the crumbling tower Nate and Grace had been in, “with that science facility you were at.”
“Not a science facility,” said Nate.
“I reckon not,” agreed El. “I also reckon that the bugs want it gone. Which is an odd thing to be saying, like they have a will and a purpose, and two days ago we thought we were all alone in the big bad universe, but there you have it. What was it, anyway?”
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