It had come as a considerable shock to me to discover during my brief telepathic contact with the eldest Takheri brother that I had fallen in love with the middle one. At a glance, there was nothing terribly captivating about Hathan. Saresh was the striking one in the family, at least to human sensibilities. Tall and slim, with long platinum hair and brilliant blue eyes, he was almost comically good-looking. Next to him, Hathan, smaller and slighter, with the monochrome coloring more typical of his people, nearly disappeared. I had seen at once that he was intelligent. It had taken me weeks to understand that his reserve concealed an acerbic wit, and longer to see the distinction in the narrow cast of his features. The light in his gray eyes was watchful and meditative and laughing by turns. Almost from the start I had longed for his approbation. Not until I found myself a fugitive on a wounded ship, so desperate to clear my name that I would put my mental integrity at risk, had I understood why. And by that point he had already decided to hate me.
Of everyone on the Pinion, Hathan had been the most susceptible to Vekesh’s poison. He had known Vekesh and respected him for years. I, on the other hand, was a stranger, a literal alien, invited for largely political reasons into a menial position—Ambassador Seidel, describing the title of novi to me, had called it “effectively a service role’’—for which it was generally assumed I would prove inadequate. I had no relevant training and no facility with Vardeshi technology. From the start, Hathan had been distant and wary of me. A sequence of badly timed encounters had caused me to slide even further in his esteem. His astonishment at learning me to be innocent of the charges leveled at me by Vekesh must have been nearly equal to mine at discovering my true feelings for him.
To his credit, he had been quick to acknowledge his error in judgment. But he could hardly have done otherwise. I had learned early on in my journey that the vast majority of Vardeshi possessed latent telepathic powers. A scant few were Blanks, completely impervious to telepathic contact, or Voxes, in full and conscious command of their abilities. Zey was the former, Saresh the latter. It was for that reason, we assumed, that he had been able to access my memories in the Listening. For the Vardeshi, there could be no exoneration more complete than the word of a Vox. In the eyes of my crewmates, not to mention the Fleet and the Echelon, Saresh’s declaration of my innocence was the final word on the subject.
Saresh had gone into my mind looking for the truth. He had found more there than either of us expected. He now knew my secret. I wished, at times desperately, that he didn’t. Left to myself to choose a confidant, I would hardly have chosen Hathan’s brother. I had to admit, though, that in the two weeks since Saresh had learned of my feelings, he had been perfectly discreet. He had to be; he was bound by the Vox code of ethics, which required him to keep in confidence any and all truths revealed during the Listening. I was grateful for the code, and for my knowledge, founded upon my friendship with Saresh and strengthened during my brief glimpse of his mind, of his fundamental kindness and integrity. Without those things, I would have had no choice but to abandon my crewmates and continue my mission toward Vardesh Prime on a different ship. The risk would simply have been too great. I could think of no torment worse than finding myself confined on a tiny ship with Hathan, months out in the darkness between starhavens, after he realized that I was in love with him.
Kylie’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Picked a room yet?”
“This one,” I said without hesitation, and she deposited my duffel bag on the floor of the smallest bedroom. It was still twice as large as my novi quarters, and had a shelf bed tucked against a wall. I wasn’t sure I could sleep any more without my shoulder pressed into a bulkhead thrumming with the pulse of distant engines.
As we wandered from one chamber to the next, I felt my tension beginning to ease. The lighting in Kylie’s rooms was warmer and brighter than anything I’d seen elsewhere on the starhaven. I wondered if someone had thoughtfully adjusted the frequencies in advance of her arrival. The temperature seemed a little warmer too. Those facts, and the fineness of the furnishings, confirmed what Officer Nerev had said in the corridor: We were diplomats here.
The reminder was a salient one for me. Under Vekesh’s command, I had been an envoy of humanity in name only. In reality, I had been the lowest-ranking and worst-regarded member of a tiny staff, immersed in the petty concerns of shipboard life. With our arrival on Arkhati, my status had markedly altered. That meant elegant rooms and private showers, but it also meant different expectations. I would be representing my people on a wider stage now. All eyes would be on me and Kylie at tonight’s reception, and my hard-won knowledge of the different Vardeshi factions told me not all of them would be friendly. I was intimidated by the thought, but not as much so as I might have been months or even weeks ago. In an odd way, Vekesh had unintentionally given me a gift. What would it signify if I dropped my fork or forgot a few names at dinner? Short of actually pulling out a gun and shooting someone, it would be hard for me to embarrass my people more thoroughly than he had already embarrassed his.
“This is the best part,” said Kylie, leading me back into the main room. At its far end a short flight of wide, shallow steps led up to a terrace with a series of arched viewports serving as its exterior wall. The terrace was furnished with a scattering of the familiar padded stools and low tables, but I picked my way through them with hardly a glance, drawn toward what looked at first like an enormous piece of abstract art rendered in black and white. As I approached the viewports, the image resolved itself, and I realized what I was seeing: the bulk of the starhaven itself in stark white silhouette against the blackness of space. As I stood looking out, stunned by the scale of the place, a flash of movement drew my eye. A craft of a type I’d never seen, spindly and slender-winged as a dragonfly, was lifting off from one of the landing platforms far below. It drifted upward, seemingly aimless at first, gaining speed as it rose. When it flashed past the viewport, I realized it was much larger than I’d thought. Its iridescent skin, reflecting the stars and the lights of the starhaven, shone blindingly bright. It rose a little higher, then changed course abruptly and arrowed away into the night.
“Holy shit,” I said to Kylie, and we both started to laugh.
CHAPTER TWO
We lingered on the terrace for a few more minutes, scanning the platforms below for other docking or departing ships. When none appeared, we made our way back down to the galley and started rifling through Kylie’s food supplies. “There’s more in storage,” she said, “but this is most of my food for the month. I haven’t even started to sort through it yet. I thought we could do something simple for lunch. Pizzas, maybe? I have the dough already thawed. Here.” She sloshed white wine from a half-empty bottle into two glasses and handed one to me.
“To the Strangers,” I said, referencing the nickname the hundred human representatives sent to live among the Vardeshi had adopted for ourselves.
“To Avery Alcott,” Kylie countered, “the heroine of the exchange.”
I made a face. “Please tell me no one’s actually calling me that.”
“They are.” She grinned. “In both languages.”
“I don’t feel very heroic.”
“You took a bullet for the alliance,” she pointed out. “What would you call it?”
“I don’t know, bad reflexes?” I looked down, swirling the wine in my glass. When I looked up again, I found her watching me, her brows drawn slightly together. She didn't say anything. After an uncomfortable pause I added, “Vekesh shot me in the arm and I fell down. Not exactly the stuff of legends.”
“They imprisoned you,” Kylie said quietly, “and you risked your mind to save them.”
“I had help,” I said. “I wasn’t alone. Not … at the end.”
She clinked her glass against mine. “To not being alone, then.”
I had forgotten what it felt like to share a meal with someone else, both the work of preparation and the pleasure of consumption. On the Pinion, food had been
an irritation more than anything else, a visceral reminder that I was different from my companions. As yet little was known about the compatibility of Earth foods with Vardeshi physiology and vice versa. My prelaunch training had included strict instructions to keep my cooking and dishwashing procedures entirely separate from those of my crewmates. I was permitted to eat in the same room as them, but that was all. I couldn’t sample their dishes; they couldn’t sample mine. Even breathing in the aromas of their foods had been discouraged due to the risk of inhaling airborne allergens. Cooking, formerly a pleasure, had become a chore, solitary and ideally sterile.
Now I rediscovered food as a source of community. With Kylie, there was nothing to guard against, no danger of cross-contamination or olfactory offense. We were just two women sharing a kitchen. She scattered flour onto the counter and began rolling out the dough with the empty wine bottle. I lit the camp stoves and assembled the toppings, leaving the containers open so that we could sample them as we worked. It was sheer decadence to handle food without compulsively washing my hands afterward. Even something as minor as handing Kylie a slice of pepperoni was revelatory. While the pizzas cooked, we leaned against the counter, drinking our wine, talking about the best and worst of the prepackaged meals we’d brought from Earth.
“Worst: vegetable curry,” Kylie said. “No question.”
I smiled. “I don’t know. I kind of liked that one.”
“All right, what was your favorite, then?”
“Maybe the carbonara?”
She nodded. “Good choice. Let’s make that tomorrow.”
When the pizzas were sufficiently cool, we carried them to the terrace and ate them with knives and forks directly from the pans. “I’m changing my answer,” I said after the first savory bite. “This is definitely the best meal of the trip.” Kylie laughed and poured more wine into my glass. Not since the Listening had I felt so profoundly close to another person.
Afterward, drowsy with wine and food, I stood up and began stacking the dishes for easier carrying into the galley. “Leave the washing-up for later,” Kylie commanded. “Go get comfortable in the main room. I’ve got a surprise for you.” I went obediently to settle myself on one of the cushioned platforms. A few moments later, Kylie batted the curtain aside and stepped in, her laptop open in one hand. “They told me about your tech,” she said. “I won’t have the same shows as you, but it’s got to be better than nothing. We can watch anything you like.” She placed the laptop in front of me with a flourish.
I drew it reverently toward me. “Oh, thank God. This is exactly what I need right now.” I scrolled through the list—mostly British sitcoms—and chose one I’d watched a couple of years earlier. Five minutes into the first episode, I was fast asleep.
The next thing I knew, it was several hours later, and Kylie was shaking me gently awake. “I thought you’d want time to get ready. We have a bit more than an hour before we have to leave for dinner. Shower’s all yours.” Her hair was damp, I saw, and she was wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe.
I sat up and stretched elaborately. “I had no idea I was that tired.”
“Dr. Okoye said you’d say that. She messaged me and said not to worry if you essentially collapsed once you felt yourself to be safe.”
“She’s been spot on with all of her predictions since the shooting,” I said. “I’m starting to think it was her and not Saresh poking around in my head.”
“She’s seen trauma before. She says trauma with aliens is still trauma.”
“She’s right about that too,” I muttered. My head felt cloudy with wine and sleep, and it took longer than it should have to track down my water bottle and retrieve my toiletries from my duffel bag, but after standing under a scalding hot shower for fifteen minutes, I felt fully refreshed. I toweled my hair dry and went to see what Kylie was wearing to the reception.
I found her in her room, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She looked trim and confident in a navy sheath with white piping, her hair in a sleek knot. “Wow,” I said. “You look like an ambassador.”
She winked at me in the mirror. “That’s the idea.”
“I wonder what I’m supposed to wear?”
“Why don’t you ask?”
I took her advice and sent a quick text to Zey before beginning to style my own hair. I was finishing my own minimal makeup routine when the response came back: Uniforms. How concise, I thought, half-amused, half-exasperated. The brevity of the response was oddly disappointing. I missed Zey. I missed all of them. It was odd to think that I’d gone almost an entire day without seeing any of my crewmates. Even during the worst days of isolation on the Pinion, I hadn’t been apart from them for more than a few consecutive daytime hours. I wondered what they’d been doing.
“I see you’ve decided to go as Novi Alkhat,” Kylie said when I rejoined her.
I brushed self-consciously at one immaculate sleeve. “My crewmates will be in uniform. I thought I should too. Why? Do you think it’s a mistake?”
“No.” She held up two different earrings, and I pointed to one. “But,” she went on thoughtfully, “it is a choice, and the Vardeshi are going to see it that way too.”
“What do you mean?”
I watched our adjacent reflections in the mirror as Kylie spoke. “You’re human. You’re here to represent humanity. Tonight’s reception isn’t just a dinner, it’s an official diplomatic welcome. Earth formal wear would be the predictable choice. Wearing the uniform sends a signal—it shows solidarity with your crew. You must know they’re not exactly in favor with the Echelon right now.”
I sighed. “I think you’re better at this stuff than I am. I’m not . . . political.”
Kylie checked the contents of her purse and slung it over one shoulder. “You learned Vardeshi. You can learn this too.”
I went back to my room to look at the two formal dresses I’d packed, but before I’d had time to do more than slide back the wardrobe panel, the door chime sounded below. Officer Nerev identified herself and inquired whether we were ready to go to dinner. Kylie looked at me. I nodded. “We’re ready,” she confirmed. “Lead the way.”
As we moved through the starhaven, I tracked our progress against my mental diagram of the place. The nap had restored some of my alertness, and I found I could identify the different stages of the journey without difficulty: the elevator descent through the visitors’ section, the partial circuit of the starhaven’s main structure, the second, longer drop into the administrative area. The room to which Officer Nerev showed us was almost as appealing as Kylie’s suite, though much larger. It had a high arched ceiling hung with elaborately carved lanterns which cast a soft glow over the furnishings and the people below. There were a lot of them, I noted apprehensively. I scanned the group and saw civilians in their dark formal wear mixed in with Fleet officers in the familiar gray and gold uniforms. A handful of others wore a different uniform, one I hadn’t seen before. I was immediately struck by its severity. “What’s the black and white uniform?” I asked Kylie under my breath.
“Echelon,” she murmured.
As if summoned by the word, a man and a woman garbed in black and white broke off from the main group and approached us. I looked them over curiously. Both appeared to be of middle age. The man wore his hair long, like Saresh, although it was gray rather than silver; his companion’s was white and cropped shorter than my own. Her eyes were as piercingly blue as Sohra’s, but I read little warmth in them. The pair stopped in front of us and the woman extended her hand in what was so clearly an Earth handshake that I took it without even attempting a Vardeshi greeting.
“Hello,” she said. “Welcome to Arkhati Starhaven. I’m Irza Tavri, First Rank officer of the Echelon here on Arkhati. You might say . . . governor?” The hesitation was artificial; her English was flawless. I knew enough of Vardeshi kinesics to suspect that her smile of welcome was artificial too. It was a bit off-putting after the neutral expressions my crewmates on the Pinion customa
rily wore, but she might simply be trying to set us at ease. I smiled back and thanked her in English for the warm greeting.
“You must be Avery,” she said. “We’re honored to have you with us. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in the Fleet. Your crewmates have been singing your praises all day.”
“Well,” I said awkwardly, “I’m doing my best, but Khavi Takheri will tell you I’m still learning to make a decent cup of senek.”
“I think you mean Suvi Takheri,” she corrected smoothly.
“I’m sorry?”
“The promotion was temporary. Hathan Takheri has resumed his previous rank, pending the outcome of the hearings.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot.”
Studying my uniform, she said, “It strikes me that I may have been remiss in not issuing the dinner invitation sooner. Given more warning, you could have brought some of your Earth clothes from the Pinion.”
“Oh,” I said again. “I did. But my crewmates are in uniform.” I looked around a little helplessly. “Or they will be. When they get here.”
“You feel allegiance to them,” she observed.
“Of course I do.”
“I find that remarkable, given what you’ve been forced to endure at their hands.”
I said tightly, “We’ve all had a lot to endure.”
Kylie chose that moment to interject a light comment about the tribulations of novi quarters. I listened with relief and some envy while she and Governor Tavri embarked on effortless small talk about Kylie’s tenure on the Black Moon and the delights of the diplomatic suite. They were a matched pair, I thought: two winning smiles, two pairs of hard blue eyes. At an appropriate pause, the governor introduced her companion, Councilor Zirian, who offered his own greetings in English nearly as polished as the governor’s. After a few more pleasantries, they passed us off to a cluster of civilians whose names I instantly forgot. I knew a cocktail hour when I saw one, and the ritual here on the starhaven appeared more or less the same as the Earthbound variety. I fielded my share of questions about life on the Pinion, but as much as possible I shifted the spotlight onto Kylie, who seemed to have an endless supply of amusing yet inoffensive cultural anecdotes queued up for delivery. At some point each of us was handed a glass of sparkling wine. I held mine without drinking it, looking wistfully around for a familiar face.
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