Gradually others joined in, volume seeming to be the main objective; Califa weighed the destruction of the pretty little song against the pain of Hurcon’s voice, and accepted it as a necessary evil.
Rina joined in, her voice plain but at least in tune. After a moment she nudged Califa with an elbow, urging her to join them. Califa hesitated, then shrugged; amid the din, no one could hear anyone save the person right next to them. She began to sing, shaking her head ruefully at a sudden image of herself, singing along with a crew of rowdy skypirates. It was like one of the old Triotian myths about men who sailed the great oceans, bellowing out a sea chanty as they worked the sails that harnessed the wind to propel them across the water.
Rina had stopped singing and, her eyes wide with pleased surprise, had nudged those around her into silence, letting Califa’s clear, pure voice ring out above the others who still sang. As it did, others stopped, turning to look at the newcomer to the ship.
It was a moment before Califa realized what was happening. Her voice faded away as embarrassment overtook her; she’d always loved to sing, had even, before entering the Coalition Academy, thought of seeking instruction. But the academy had quickly taught her that anything other than booming anthems to the glory of the Coalition was unacceptable, and that singing itself was far too foolish a pastime for an officer, and probably smacked of weakness as well.
“No, don’t stop!” Rina exclaimed. “It was wonderful. Please finish the song.”
Califa shook her head, wishing she’d never begun, never drawn such attention to herself, an unwise action for a slave. Yet the others were chiming in with Rina, urging her to begin again. Even Hurcon grudgingly admitted she “had a decent voice,” and waved at her to go on.
To refuse now, Califa realized ruefully, would bring even more attention down on her. She wasn’t being treated as a prisoner, yet she knew that could change easily if she angered them. And she found that she was enjoying this tiny taste of freedom far too much to risk losing it. So she sang.
She had learned the song long ago, from a Clarion shipworker who had visited her mother. He had been one of the few “visitors” her mother had had that had ever paid any attention to the child who lived in the same dwelling. He had been very kind, Califa had thought then, never realizing until later that his kindness had no doubt been merely pity.
But he had taught her this song and others, and had praised her voice in words she remembered to this day. And six-year-old Califa had wished mightily that this gentle man were her father.
She sang it for him now, the notes high and sweet and clear. In her voice, the song behaved as it was meant to; it soared, it danced and sparkled like crystal dust caught in a feather of a breeze.
When the last note died away, the crew broke into a boisterous round of applause and cheering. Califa blushed, pleased. But her color faded when she realized there was one among them, a latecomer standing near the door, who wasn’t applauding, but was studying her intently, as a pilot studied an instrument that gave an unexpected reading.
Dax.
She didn’t know when he’d come in. She’d been too intent on the music, and remembering the long-forgotten pleasure of letting her voice run free. She lowered her eyes, not looking at him, yet she was still aware of his every movement. He crossed the room slowly, nodding a greeting to all. The noise level in the room rose once more as conversation resumed. But not, Califa noticed thankfully, the singing. Perhaps the leader didn’t approve of such frivolity, she thought.
“Please,” Rina whispered, “don’t tell him we were talking about him.”
It took a moment for Califa to remember the girl’s urgent plea. She gave her a reassuring nod, and the girl breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to her food.
Dax poured a cup of the strong, thick, Arellian coffee that Califa had been delighted to find on the table. It was a rare commodity these days; too many of the growers who had once specialized in producing the pods that made the reviving brew had become traitors, refusing to aid the Coalition.
At least, that had been the version Califa had heard; Larcos’s this morning had differed. The growers were now laboring in Coalition camps, he’d said, or reduced to trying to grow enough food for what survived of their families after the Coalition slaughter and scorching of the landscape.
Califa felt a pang for her home world. Perhaps she should have asked for a posting there, when she’d been taken off active duty. Then none of this would have happened. She would still be free, a nobly injured Coalition officer retired with honor. She would never have taken the Wolf into the fold, and Shaylah would never have—
Stop it! she ordered herself. It was getting harder to keep her old shipmate from her thoughts, as she’d sworn to do. But she’d made that oath before she’d been collared, back when she’d been smugly sure she knew what treason was. Now, she wasn’t sure of much of anything anymore. Except that she had more than fulfilled any obligation she’d had ever had to Shaylah Graymist. And that the decision to do so had cost her, in essence, her life.
A life given for a live saved, she repeated silently. It balanced the scales. Even if Shaylah had long considered them balanced, Califa hadn’t. When they had served together on the Brightstar, Califa had merely observed the overload on a weaponry circuit, shouted a warning in time for Shaylah to get clear, and helped her escape after the ensuing explosion. On Darvis II, Shaylah had risked her life to come back for her trapped comrade, disobeying a direct order from the team leader not to go back into the blazing ordnance bunker. Although Shaylah had then called them even—for Califa’s sake, she had said, since she felt such things needless between friends—Califa had never felt it so. Until now.
The hardest part was, deep in her soul, she knew Shaylah would not think them even. She would never trade her own life for a friend’s life spent in torment and torture. It was a quality of mercy Califa had ridiculed in her friend before; now she wished she had treasured it.
She heard a laugh—deep, resonant, and flagrantly masculine. She didn’t need to look to know who it had come from, but she did nevertheless.
Dax didn’t look as if he felt much like laughing. He looked weary, his face drawn, his eyes dark-circled, as if he’d had no more of a restful night than she. But if he was as tired as he looked, he wasn’t letting it affect his crew.
“—sector scan an hour ago, and still no sign of anyone on our tail,” Larcos told him.
Dax nodded. “Good. We’ll proceed as planned, then. Four nights from tonight.”
A cheer went up, including from Rina. Dax grinned at her. “You’ll have the coordinates and the course laid out by morning, navigator?”
Rina gave him a look that could only be described as smug. “It’s been done for hours.”
Dax lifted his cup of the Arellian brew to her in salute. Rina flipped a rockfowl bone at him; he dodged it, laughing. When the room had settled down once more, Califa looked at the young blonde quizzically.
“We’re going to Boreas,” she said in answer to the look.
“Boreas?” Califa’s brow furrowed. “Why? What isn’t ice year-round are impassable mountains and poisonous seas. There’s nothing there but the crystal mines.”
Rina nodded, unconcerned. “And a big Coalition Outpost.”
“A heavily armed Coalition Outpost.” This was no secret; everyone knew that the crystal mines were fiercely guarded except in the winter months, when it was impossible for anyone to get through. Only the minimum contingent of troops remained there then.
“Of course. They have a huge supply annex, for those who are stuck there through the winter. That means guards.”
“Of course,” Califa echoed, an odd tightness knotting her stomach. “So what in Hades is the skypirate wanted all over the system going there for?”
Rina grinned. “Simple. He’s going shopping.”
/> Chapter 5
HE WAS CRAZY. That was the only answer. He was off his axis, he was jackaled, he had slipped his orbit. No one who wasn’t would even conceive of attacking one of the best armed of Coalition outposts, let alone with just a light cruiser and crew of twenty. No one who wasn’t would fly all that distance just to commit suicide. No one who wasn’t could get what seemed like sane men to go with him.
No one except maybe a legend.
She rose and paced the floor of Rina’s quarters again. It had been three cycles of the ship’s days since Rina had casually dropped her news. Califa didn’t know what planet the ship’s chronometer had been set to, but she assumed it was Clarion, where it had been made. But perhaps not; Clarion seemed too small for twelve-hour breaks of dark and light. Not that it made any difference. No matter what the schedule, they were marching closer and closer to disaster.
Califa tried to tell herself that you didn’t build a reputation like Dax’s by being careful. It would take daring, boldness, even recklessness. But there was a line between recklessness and carelessness, between boldness and foolishness, between daring and stupidity.
But Dax was not stupid. She had seen too much bright, agile intelligence in those green eyes to think that. So why would he risk a raid doomed to failure? If he was so concerned about his crew’s safety, why risk them on a suicide mission? Was his hatred of the Coalition truly so great?
She knew the crew loathed the Coalition with a passion she’d rarely seen. While Dax was the force that bound them together, was this the unseen criteria of his choices? Was this the one thing, the one common trait in the crew that seemed so different, so varied? It seemed each of them had a personal grudge, some reason for vengeance against the power that ruled the system with an iron hand.
And having heard their stories, she wasn’t sure she could blame them. It was painful—beyond painful—to face the dark, evil side of the calling she’d devoted her life to, but if the tales she’d heard in prison—if the accounts of the crew members were not enough proof—she had only to touch her throat and the cool metal band that proclaimed her slave to the system in which she had once held a place of honor.
The whoosh of the door brought her pacing to a halt. Rina came in, her color high, her displeasure clear in her quick, jerky strides. Now it was she who paced the small floor space of her quarters, made smaller by the cot Califa was sleeping on.
“He thinks I’m still a child. He treats me like a child. Sometimes I think he wants me to just stay a child forever!”
Califa had no doubt who the girl was talking about. It’s been a long time since you were a child, Rina, though you should still be. Dax’s words, the memory of his eyes, shadowed with pain, came back to her sharply.
“Perhaps he just wants you to have the chance to be a child again, Rina.”
“Being a child is a waste,” the girl snapped as she spun and strode back across the room. “Being a child means you’re too young, too small, and too silly to know what you want.”
She whirled and started back again. “It means everyone else thinks they know what’s best for you. It means they don’t care if you’re perfectly happy where you are; they have to take you away, so you can be treated like a child.”
Rina’s vehemence would have been amusing, if Califa had not also remembered the girl’s answer to Dax, that time. If you hadn’t rescued me . . .
“Is that what Dax did, Rina? Took you away from someplace where you were perfectly happy?”
The girl stopped midstride, her back to Califa. It was a moment before she spoke, and her words were oddly muffled. “I was doing all right.”
“Were you?”
Rina turned then, and Califa was shocked to see tears streaming down her face. “Eos, sometimes I hate myself,” the girl choked out. “I say these awful, wicked things, and I don’t mean them; I even know I don’t mean them when I say them, but I can’t seem to stop them!”
Moved by a feeling she didn’t understand, something all tangled up with her recognition of a child so much like she herself had been and the wish that someone who understood had been there for her, Califa raised her arms and opened them. Rina ran to her, throwing her arms around her, sobbing.
It was very strange, Califa thought. No one had ever turned to her for comfort. For cool-headed advice, for professional assessment of a tactical situation, yes. But never comfort. Not even Shaylah, when she had been clearly tormented in those last days, had had faith enough to trust her supposed friend to comfort her.
And had Shaylah been wrong? Califa wondered as she patted the girl’s shoulders as the wrenching sobs continued. The woman she had been then would not have been at ease with such emotions, even from Shaylah. Perhaps especially from Shaylah. She certainly would not have welcomed a weeping child into her arms, nor would she ever have felt—or at least admitted to—this odd sense of fulfillment that someone had come to her like this.
“I—I d-didn’t mean it,” Rina stammered out again.
“Sshh,” Califa soothed. “I know.”
“Dax saved me. I would have died there, in that cave.”
“Cave?”
“On Daxelia. My . . . my parents had been there, looking for a friend. They were killed by the Coalition.”
Califa’s arms tightened around the girl.
“My father fought them, but there were too many. Then he made them chase him, led them away. Only two stayed with my mother and me. She distracted them from me. So I could get away. She—they were so intent on her, touching her—” Rina gulped back another sob.
“Rina, you don’t have to tell me this.”
“I do, to make up for what I said. Dax would never, ever hurt me. But I seem to hurt him all the time. Sometimes when he looks at me it’s like . . . something’s tearing him up inside.”
“Does he know? What happened to your parents?”
She nodded. “I told him. When I realized he was—” Her words broke off suddenly, and when she went on; Califa knew it wasn’t with what she had almost said. “After he found me.”
“In that cave?” She nodded again, a tiny movement Califa felt more than saw. “I’d been hiding there. At night I went out and tried to find food. One night Dax saw me. He followed me to the cave. I fought him, because I thought he was one of them. It took him hours to talk me into coming with him.”
He had taken the time to talk to a terrified child, Califa thought. He could have just taken her, for her own good, but he had not. Even to a child, he gave a choice, or at least the appearance of one. As one who knew all too well the pain of having no choice at all, she could appreciate such a simple thing, a thing most took for granted.
“Your parents?” Califa asked gently.
Rina went very still. Then she straightened, not deigning to wipe her eyes. But when she spoke, her voice was no longer that of a weeping child. It was a voice far too mature for her years, a voice cold with remembered pain, and hard with fury.
“They hung my father at the gate to Ossuary. I never saw my mother again. Dax went back to try and find her. I made him. I was only ten. I was afraid; I made him promise to find her, never realizing I was asking him to risk his life for a woman he didn’t even know, who was surely already dead. But he went, for me. A child he didn’t even know.”
With each awful word, Rina left the child farther behind. She drew away now, her arms withdrawing to cross over her chest.
“He let them catch him.” Califa smothered a gasp. “For me,” Rina repeated flatly. “He let them catch him trespassing on Coalition property, so he could try to learn what had happened to my mother. While they held him, he heard of a woman who’d been raped by the Coalition troops, then thrown to the prisoners until they used the life out of her. It was my mother.”
“Eos, bless her soul,” Califa whispered.
“They
would have killed Dax, had he not pretended to be a simpleton. Instead they sentenced him to a public flogging. He could barely move, afterward. He still carries the scars. For me.”
As she repeated the words a third time, her eyes, now dry, lifted to meet Califa’s.
“He is not of my blood, but I would give my life for him. As would everyone on this ship.” Her mouth tightened, and for an instant Califa saw the child there, young and frightened and weeping. “Because,” Rina said, her voice husky now, “we all know he would give his for us.”
For one of the few times in her life, Califa could find no words. There was nothing she could say in the face of such a horrible story, and such fierce devotion. Devotion to a man who, by all accounts, deserved it.
She watched as Rina walked to her bunk and sank down on the edge of it. She was clearly drained by the reliving of the ugly memories. Long moments of silence passed before Califa finally spoke again.
“Why were you so angry at him?”
Rina’s head came up, guilt displayed clearly on her delicate, pixie-featured face. Her priorities were back in order, and she was feeling remorseful at having, at least temporarily, forgotten what Dax was to her. After a moment, she sighed.
“I’ll have to go apologize now. I yelled at him.”
Califa controlled her urge to smile. Such a paradox Rina was, at the same time so young and so very, very old.
“If your mood when you came in is any measure, I’m sure you did. Why?”
“He won’t let me go on the raid.”
“I should hope not,” Califa said immediately, instinctively, horrified at the idea.
Rina eyed her, her expression rueful. “You look just like he did when I asked.”
“You have no business on a mission like that,” Califa said sternly. “Eos, he has no business on a mission like that! Does he have any idea what he’ll be going up against?”
Rina shrugged. “He’s done it before. A couple of years ago.”
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