by C. Gockel
He turned to his sister. Despite her struggles, he pulled the girl to him.
“She is obviously distressed.” His voice softened. He made hushing noises.
She watched them, two dark heads bowed against misery. Erelah’s sobs pressed to a low mutter. Veradin rocked them back and forth, uttering crooning sounds.
He looked up at Sela over his sister’s head. “She hasn’t your strength, Ty. She is not a soldier. You have to understand that.”
Sela backed into the corridor. An ugly hitch filled her chest. It was a sensation she did not care to examine. She had been dismissed. She did not exist in their little world. She was the dumb breeder who could not even speak their language.
Sela understood one thing. They had taken more than Erelah Veradin onto their ship.
Chapter Seventeen
I have done something wrong. Of that I am sure. But what?
When Erelah focused on the hazy scrim that obscured her memory, it refused to dissolve. But she was certain she had done something to earn that scowl of distrust from Tyron, her brother’s loyal soldier.
Whatever she had done, it meant that the door to her makeshift quarters, once a storage space, was now shut. And Erelah wondered: if she possessed the strength to shamble across the room, would she find the door locked?
Am I locked in? Or is someone locked out?
/That is because he does not trust you. Your own brother./
She cowered at the voice, only vaguely aware that it had no true sound, but had crawled through her head like the hasty needling whine of insects. Eyes squeezed shut, she pressed her face against the cold metal skin of the tired Cassandra. The ship’s obedient hum crawled over her, flooded her ears, rattled molars.
Erelah could still hear her. Still feel her. Tristic .
/Your beloved sibling doubts you. His renegade soldier has his ear. Tyron tells him what to believe./
If she opened her eyes, she would see Tristic pacing, hands clasped behind her crooked back.
Erelah whispered, clasping hands over her ears. “You’re not real. You can’t touch me now.”
/On that count you are wrong./
“Stop. Stop. Stop.”
It was her new litany, easily replacing any prayers to the Fates she might still tease from her tired brain. She cringed closer to the wall, striking her head against it, keeping time. Even that pain did not drive Tristic away.
“Get out of my head. You’re not real!”
Count to ten like Uncle used to teach. But that was for anger. Not for this. Not for warding off demons.
/I am more real than your so-called brother. You have nothing. You are nothing. He wants none of you. You only bring him ruin./
“Stop. Please. Stop.”
Tristic wanted to wear her again, her Erelah-suit. She would insert her essence like a hand within a glove.
Erelah pushed back. It was so hard.
She conjured cherished memories: Uncle, strong and tall, broad shoulders like mountains thrust up to the sky, sheltering her from the tangled bramble of choking half-thoughts. The endearingly bony-knuckled hands of Old Sissa covered by such soft skin that cooled fevers and calmed sickened hearts.
Harder, she pushed. And slowly, that pull loosened.
There was a tug, felt and unseen in that alien den nestled in her brain.
Panting, she took in the room as it seemed to solidify around her.
The clawed panic in her chest subsided.
Tristic was gone. For now.
Somehow Erelah had pulled free, but she knew it was temporary. It had sapped her strength. Her brain felt as if it had been scooped from her skull, wrung out and then dropped back into place.
How long can I do this?
They left Newet by mutual, unspoken decision. Although it did require another brief journey by conduit travel, Sela saw the logic in it. They could not run the risk of an Enforcement squadron having followed Erelah.
Sela sat in the grav couch of the command loft and scowled at what she saw on the Cass’s battered screens and reads. This boat was a mess in more ways than one. In concert with the clamor of the beacons and tell-tales, she muttered under her breath. The previous owners had recoded much of the system to use Commonspeak programming and calculations. Yet, some of the primary elements still relied on the Regimental parent systems. As Sela performed the calculations aloud, she faltered between the two languages when it came to tech-speak. If it weren’t bad enough that the decades old interface lacked the user-friendly holo-projections, she soon had learned that every entry needed to be checked twice, then converted.
Sela detested such tasks, not because she felt inadequate to perform them, but because they did not involve moving or doing.
Grot work!
Sela realized that she was sulking. She was a decorated infantry commander and a child of the Regime, not some spineless frail tech. Bring Erelah up here. If she were the genius that her brother claimed, she could set this horrid little boat to rights. She could do something useful instead of sleeping or screaming insanity.
Sela felt her scowl deepen.
There was something insidious, possibly dangerous inside Erelah, but Sela had only her instinctual distrust to present to her captain, nothing more tangible. The girl could have learned Sela’s name by any means: an overheard conversation, perhaps.
Her attention slipped. One of the beacons flashed scarlet as it rejected her calculation. A quick rap of her knuckle silenced its bleat. There was a brief laugh from the hatchway behind her, inexpertly covered with a cough. Veradin.
She made to stand in his presence, but flopped back to the seat, with a startled grunt. The bench’s safety harness was still fastened around her.
Wonderful, Tyron.
“Sir.” Sela unclasped the webbing even as Veradin motioned for her to stay seated.
She stood, nonetheless. It was automatic. She could no more be seated in the presence of an officer than she could will the color of her hair to change.
“Sela,” he murmured. “I want to apologize.”
“It wasn’t my place to address her, sir. I’m not one of you.” Sela shifted from foot to foot.
“Don’t say that.” He stepped closer. “It cannot be like that anymore.”
Stubble darkened the line of his jaw. Shadows had formed beneath his eyes. His moves were slow like a sleepwalker. Her captain, the man she remembered, had always seemed on the edge of action, as if he possessed some fantastic idea that he could barely contain. That was gone, she feared, for good.
What message did the avatar have for you, captain? Why would it damage you so?
“Things are going to be different now.” He spoke haltingly as if fearing his own words. “They have to be.”
“I think I understand, sir.” This was it. He was going to make her leave.
“Do you?” It seemed as if he were asking himself as well. “I don’t expect you to—”
“You offered to leave me on a Eugenes colony. I found one in the navsys. It’s two days from here if we avoid conduit travel.”
It was an agricolony with a minimal Regime police presence that would be easy to evade. Sela had teased its location out of the lobotomized navlogs after checking through dozens of later hacks added by the ship’s previous owners.
His eyes were wide, serious. “Don’t leave me, Ty. I can’t order you to stay, but I need you.”
This was not what Sela had expected.
This is what this man did to her. He always had her thrown off balance. Things that should make sense… didn’t. She could never really think straight where he was involved. It was a liability, yet she could not bear to be without him.
He was still talking. “But I have to tell you—”
Sela kissed him.
Surprisingly, Veradin responded in kind, his mouth forceful against hers. They were off balance. He fell against her. The rail behind the grav couch pressed into the small of her back. She slid her arms around his neck.
Th
is was wrong. Sela found that she did not care.
“Ty,” he whispered. His hands moved up to cup her face. “Mine.”
Sela nodded in ardent agreement, uncertain of her voice. It was not a matter of debate. Yes, she was his. She could deny him nothing. At first, it had been duty that bound her to him. But now the thing that held her to him ran deeper than any blood debts forged on a battlefield. It was far stronger than Decca. It defied definition, but at that moment she would give anything to serve it.
“You,” he breathed. “It’s always been you. Always.”
“Captain.”
He drew away, sharply. His hands fell upon her shoulders. For a sickening moment, Sela feared he had changed his mind, realized what he was doing and with what, just a common breeder.
“No more ‘captain’ or ‘sir,’” he said, urgently. “I have to tell you something.”
Sela nodded, chewing her lip. Her blood raged in her ears. Drunk. She was drunk on him and in this moment. He could have said anything, and she would not have cared.
He drew in a breath to speak.
“Jonvenlish! Ferhdahk est damina nasci de haste!”
They both straightened, caught off guard under a nearly adolescent guilt.
Erelah slouched in the doorway, blanket trailing off her shoulder. The words she had uttered were in High Eugenes, but the tone had been damning. There was only one word that Sela recognized. Nasci. A crester’s word for breeder . From her, it sounded like a slur.
Sela glanced at Veradin. His expression was shocked.
“What did she say?” she demanded.
He held up a staying hand. His attention was on his sister as he barked a reply in Eugenes. His tone full of reproach.
Erelah stiffened, and her expression soured. Those strange, jade-colored eyes measured Sela.
Anger blossomed in her chest. Something had been said about her, of that she was certain. Breeder. Veradin’s angry tone had confirmed it was something she would not like. What?
Erelah tilted her head as she spoke in that same perfect, clipped Regimental. “Would you like to know, Commander?”
Her voice was not a fearful warble as before. The collapsed star was back. How did he not see it?
“Erelah! Enough!” Veradin said sharply.
He stepped between them and spoke over his shoulder to Sela. “She is not well, Ty. She does not know what she’s saying…what she’s doing.”
“What. Did. She. Say.” Sela folded her arms. The intoxicating flush from moments before had dissolved in a tide of acrid fury.
Erelah took a wobbling step into the cramped loft. The blanket caught the edge of the hatchway and slipped from her shoulder. She did not seem to notice. Something that cared only for pain and cold dwelled in those odd-colored eyes. It was like a wraith, too large for this Erelah-suit and as a consequence, it was barely contained and badly concealed.
How could Jon not see?
“I told my brother he contaminates himself by touching you, breeder. You are beneath him.” Erelah bared a mocking, pale-lipped smile.
Sela darted around her captain’s barring arm. One more step and she could hold the woman’s frail neck between her breeder’s fingers and squeeze until the bones snapped. His calm voice stayed her. “Sela. Please.”
Dark amusement danced over Erelah’s features, eerily carved by the lights of the nearby panel. She was fury masquerading as a frail young woman.
“Your breeder pet obeys, Captain Veradin. Good.”
He rounded on his sister and gripped her upper arms. “What’s happened to you? This is not like you. This is not how we were raised.”
Erelah’s head rocked back. Her mouth moved without sound. Then, suddenly, wide-eyed, she looked around.
“Jon?” Her voice quivered. “What’s happening?”
Veradin pulled his sister into a fierce embrace, dismissing Sela with his back as he whispered words to the girl in their secret Eugenes language.
As Sela watched, anger nestled in her chest and gnawed at her cheated want.
A shame. What a waste of such a goddess. Ty standing in the half shadow, toes to the edge of the yellow line that marked the difference between compliance and severe punishment. Leaving her there each time, each interaction drawn out on purpose, finding excuses to touch her, always knowing nothing could come of it. Maybe it was in spite of the fact it was forbidden, but Fates, how he wanted her…
Erelah sat up in a twisted knot of bedding.
It was too vivid to call a dream. It was a bundle of thoughts, feelings. All belonging to Jon, she realized. It was not stealing a glimpse, like a dispassionate third party. It was as if for a moment she had dwelled in his secret heart and found it to be a sad, quiet world filled with regrets and half-actions when it came to Sela Tyron.
When had I seen that? She ran quivering hands through her hair.
The memory/thought about Commander Tyron had belonged to Jon. It imposed a confusing pattern over her own feelings toward the soldier. It was correct to say she harbored a healthy wariness of Tyron that bordered on fear. Working mostly with Fleet, Erelah had little interaction with Volunteers in her brief career with the Regime. To her, they were dangerous beings bred for their murderous cunning, like spike hounds trained for guarding a great house. One respected their sleek and powerful design, but they were something you would hesitate to pet.
His pet. I called Tyron his pet.
My voice. But not my thoughts.
A flood of hot-and-cold pinpricks danced over her scalp and receded down her neck. The murkiness of her memory dissolved as she recalled the murderous anger written in Tyron’s expression.
It was not me. I had not said that.
“No,” she croaked. Tristic. It had been Tristic.
Her fingers pulled through her hair to dig at her scalp. Her head was full of hot sand that slithered and whispered:
/But you did say those things/
Tristic. It was as if she had always lived there.
/You will have no rest, no quarter here. Return to me./
With a whimper, she curled onto her side, as if she could physically withdraw from the voice.
“Not there. You’re not there,” she said.
/End this torture. Return to me, Veradin. You shall be forgiven, lovely child./
“Not there,” Erelah said, more firmly this time. She squeezed her eyes shut.
She felt her: Tristic. Stooping over her, pressing so closely she could detect the faintest waft of water jasmine. All she needed to do was open her eyes, turn her head just so, and she would look upon that grotesque face.
Firm hands seized her shoulders. Erelah screeched. It echoed in the flat metal of the small room.
Jon knelt beside her. His face filled with pity. Fates. It was as bad as she feared.
“Jon.” Erelah lunged to embrace him.
He staggered back with a chuckle. “Easy. Easy. Take it easy on your ancient brother.”
Although his words were meant to be jovial, she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. A shadow of beard sprouted from his firm jawline.
“Were you dreaming?” he asked.
Oh, how I wish.
“Yes.” Her voice low and lost. “Bad dreams.”
Jon moved to touch her; she drew back. “Erelah, this will be hard for you, but we must talk. I need to understand what’s going on. What’s happened to you?”
/Tell him. He will think you mad./
“It’s all jumbled.”
“Try.” His expression became an unconscious imitation of Uncle. Was this what his soldiers saw when they gave answers he did not like? Then the hardness in his stare dissolved. She saw the brave boy who had defended her from all manner of imagined childhood dangers.
“You won’t believe me.”
Pity resurfaced in his gaze. “I will. Tell me.”
“Uncle told us lies, Jon. We were raised to believe lies.”
His face churned with doubt.
/See? It is as I
said./
She pressed on, trying her best to ignore the echo of Tristic in her head.
“Uncle was too clever. He found a way to trick everyone. Our genetics were altered. Just enough. It was all just in case. He never intended for us to leave Argos, and certainly never meant for you to join the Regime...”
“Erelah…” It was a weary sigh. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“We are Human.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
Her chin quivered under new tears. “Because it’s the truth.”
He drew a hand along the back of his neck. “This is madness.”
“I swear by Miri, Jon. You have to believe me.” She spoke with such sudden ferocity that he recoiled
“I believe you, Erelah.” His voice was quiet, defeated.
Relief fluttered in her chest. “You do?”
“Back on Newet, Uncle left a message for us in the crypt. He explained what he did and what we really are. And then he asked our forgiveness.” Jon paused. “Erelah, how did you know you’d find me there?”
“I didn’t. I just…wanted to be with Uncle.” Her voice cracked. Newet had been the only place she could think to go in the end. That much surfaced from the hectic riot of images in her memory. “If I was going to die, I wanted to be with him.”
“Baby sister, you’re safe here now,” he murmured. There was such guilt in his eyes.
I brought that guilt. That is mine to bear.
“This is my fault,” Erelah whispered. “You were right. I should have stayed on Argos. None of this would have happened.”
She doubted Jon heard. His stare was set, focused on a riddle that he was not mad enough to solve. “It just doesn’t make sense. If the truth about us was discovered, then why the secrecy? Why not declare our Kindred renegade and kill us both?”
“Because that wasn’t her plan,” she said quietly.
“Whose plan?”
The words came from her in a rush, staggered by sobs. “It’s why she wants me. Because she could use me. I was perfectly imperfect, and I was right there. I should have stayed on Argos.”
Fates, I sound crazy.
He moved to her side. “Who, Erelah? Is this who held you captive? The marks on your wrists are from restraints…”