Bright Shards

by Meg Pechenick

  I wasn’t sure whether it was my own cry that woke me or the hiss of the door opening, but as I sat up, my tiny room was abruptly flooded with light. Dark figures moved toward the bed, three of them, their gloved hands reaching for me. I fought wildly, but it was no use. Calmly they pinned my arms and legs against the mattress. I felt the hot sting of a needle in the side of my neck. It’s over, I thought, an instant before the blackness rushed up to claim me.

  * * *

  I awoke to a crushing headache and a foul taste in my mouth. I started to sit up, felt sick, and lay down again until the nausea passed. My vision was blurry, and I had to blink to clear it. Sitting up groggily a second time, I looked around in confusion. Where was I? Not in my provisional quarters. This room looked like one of the medical bays I’d seen earlier in my stay. Cautiously I swung my feet out over the floor and slid down. My knees gave way, and I had to grab at the bed for support. I hadn’t gone more than a step or two toward the door when it opened and three men in black hazard suits stepped in. In the center was Specialist Irnik.

  “Avery,” he said smoothly. “I’m glad to see you’re—”

  I cut him off. “Why do I feel like this? Was I drugged?”

  “You don't remember?”

  “I remember having a nightmare. I’m having a little trouble figuring out where it ended.”

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “You were sedated, yes. We thought you might be manifesting symptoms of the Flare. We were concerned that you would injure yourself.”

  “I was not,” I said with brittle patience, “manifesting symptoms of the Flare. I was having a nightmare. Which is extremely common among human trauma victims. As you would know, if you knew anything about us at all. Did it even occur to you to try talking to me before you held me down and stuck a needle in my neck?”

  “You reacted violently—”

  “To what? Three men breaking into my room in the middle of the night and attacking me? Jesus Christ, I hope I reacted violently!”

  “It was a regrettable misunderstanding. I offer my apologies.”

  “Regrettable?” I repeated. “Yeah, I’d say it’s regrettable. What time is it? How long was I out?”

  “You were unconscious for approximately twelve hours. It is now late afternoon. If you’re feeling sufficiently recovered, I’d like to run a few tests—”

  “No,” I said flatly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I said no. No more tests, no more interrogations. Cooperating with you has gotten me nowhere. I’m done. I want a nice room with my own shower, I want my stuff back, and I want to see my friends. You can give me those things, or you can take me to a holding cell and call me what I am, which is a prisoner of war.” As I was speaking, I felt the color rise in my face, but the words came out clear and crisp.

  Specialist Irnik frowned. “Our races aren’t at war.”

  “How long do you think that’s going to last once the Council finds out how badly you’ve been treating me?”

  There was a pause. Then he said, “I believe I take your point. I’ll have to consult with my superiors, of course. In the meantime, I’ll have you escorted back to your temporary quarters. Will that suffice for now?”

  “It’ll have to,” I said, and shoved my way past him to the door.

  I was too keyed up to think of food, but as the sedative left my system, I began to feel queasy again, so I nibbled on a protein bar while I made coffee. I took my thermos out to the lounge, which I’d discovered had a projection wall like the one in Saresh’s hospital room, and toggled through different views of the starhaven while I waited. I wasn’t overly impressed with what I saw. As far as I was concerned, Elteni’s main selling point was its proximity to Vardesh Prime, a feature which no longer had any relevance for me. A couple of hours passed before the door to the lounge opened to reveal Sohra and Reyna. The latter had my familiar paisley duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Without a word I walked straight into Sohra’s arms and buried my face in her shoulder. Her arms folded around me. “I hate this place,” I whispered.

  I felt the comforting pressure of Reyna’s hand on my back. “I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t know how bad,” she said quietly. “A sedative? What were they thinking?”

  “Apparently it was all a—what did he call it?—a regrettable misunderstanding,” I said, and broke into laughter that verged on the hysterical.

  “Come on,” Sohra said. “Let’s get you out of here. Your diplomatic suite is only a few minutes’ walk from here.”

  Reyna said, “Just a moment. You might want to change out of that”—she nodded at my beige ensemble—“before you leave quarantine.”

  “Right. Hang on.” I took my duffel bag and began digging through the contents in search of presentable civilian wear. I would have preferred pajamas, but I didn’t know exactly how far we had to go, and I was, after all, representing humanity. I pulled out underwear, jeans, a striped shirt, and ballet flats. Sohra and Reyna considerately turned their backs while I changed. Once dressed, I picked up the beige jumpsuit again, considered it, then crumpled it up and dropped it deliberately on the floor. I was tempted to make a rude gesture for the benefit of anyone who might be watching through the hidden cameras, but I didn’t, mostly because I didn’t know where they were.

  Within two minutes we were standing in front of one of the doors that had marked the limits of my quarantine zone. Reyna keyed in a code and we stepped through into a section of the starhaven I hadn’t seen before—and directly into a virtual phalanx of uniformed security officers, most of them male, all of them at the upper end of the range for Vardeshi height and breadth. One of them, a man with cropped silver hair and a direct blue gaze, stepped forward and lifted his hand in a Vardeshi salute. “Novi Alkhat, I’m Officer Rathis, head of your personal security detail on Elteni.”

  I returned the salute and saw him smile slightly. I thought I knew why; Zey had once told me only Vardeshi children presented an unadorned right hand in greeting. “Is this my personal security detail?” I asked. “All”—I made a quick head count—“eight of you?”

  Officer Rathis said, “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes,” I said emphatically.

  Reyna said, “Novi Alkhat has a tendency to underestimate the scope of her role in the alliance.” To me she added, “Would you like me to enumerate again the ways in which you are now a figure of not only political but purely scientific interest?”

  “Please don’t,” I muttered. She smiled. I went on, “I had two guards on Arkhati. That I could see, anyway.”

  Officer Rathis nodded. “Your circumstances have changed since then. Here you’ll have an escort of four uniformed guards whenever you move about the starhaven. That’s in addition to the undercover detail, of course.” I tried to keep my expression neutral, but some of my dismay must have crept through, because he said, “I know you’ve been accustomed to moving freely around a small ship. We’ll do what we can to keep our presence unobtrusive. A section of the starhaven has been cordoned off exclusively for human use. In addition to the basic amenities, there’s exercise equipment and a private observation deck. It’s your space, and we won’t intrude into it any more than necessary. And we’ll be ready at any time to escort you to virtually any area of the starhaven you might wish to visit. But you’ll find your activities somewhat … curtailed, at least in comparison to your explorations on Arkhati.”

  “No Downhelix, huh?” I said. “Where am I supposed to get my kicks?”

  “You’ll think of something,” Sohra murmured, and she and Reyna traded amused looks. I looked from one of them to the other in bewilderment, but no explanation was forthcoming.

  Officer Rathis led the way to the section of the starhaven cordoned off for my private use. Sohra and Reyna walked with us as far as the door. I thanked them and said I’d see them later. When they’d gone, I made a game attempt to memorize the names of my security guards, then settled for taking pictures of them with my flexscre
en and scribbling in the names by hand, a process which seemed to amuse them. Then Officer Rathis walked me through the diplomatic quarters. The rooms were small and simply furnished, but still a substantial improvement over my accommodations in the quarantine wing. The extent of the area set aside for human use surprised me: there was a lounge, a workspace, individual as well as dormitory-style sleeping quarters, and two sanitation rooms with adjoining showers. Plenty of room for one solitary human to rattle around in. One omission perplexed me. “Where’s the galley? And my cooking gear?”

  “On the next level up.” Officer Rathis indicated a doorway at the far end of the lounge area, where a narrow ramp corkscrewed up out of sight. “The observation deck is above that. The fitness room and laundry facilities are below us.”

  “Great.” I dropped my duffel bag on the floor. “I think I’ll go up and check out the view.”

  Officer Rathis said, “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

  I went up the ramp and emerged into a corridor with a single door opening off of each side. I chose the right-hand door at random. As I stepped through it, I was assailed by the smell of frying garlic. I stopped, thunderstruck, and stared at a scene so confounding I was sure I must be imagining it. Twin camp stoves blazed blue-white at the center of a long table scattered with recognizably Earth-issue food packets and cooking utensils. Atop one of the stoves a pot of water bubbled merrily. Set over the other was a saucepan, the source of the delicious aroma I’d noticed upon entering, its contents currently being stirred by a spatula in the hand of a man I’d never seen before. A human man.

  Human.

  My mind, which had struggled gamely to keep up with the permutations of the day thus far, faltered and seized.

  “Hello, Stranger,” the man said brightly. “Champagne?”

  The words, spoken in what was unquestionably the American English of a native speaker, jolted me out of my stupor. I looked from the man to the green bottle chilling in yet another stainless-steel cooking pot—one of mine, I was almost positive—and said the only thing that came to mind: “Who the hell are you?”

  His smile faded. “You’re kidding, right?”

  I said tightly, “Entertain, for a moment, the possibility that I’m not.”

  He looked from me to the variously sized knives laid out on the table and said carefully, “Okay. Let’s start over. My name is Fletcher Simon. We overlapped at the Villiger Center, but we never had a chance to meet. I’ve been on Elteni for a month now. I sent you a message three weeks ago, when I heard you’d been diverted here. You didn’t get it?”

  “I . . .” I thought of my cluttered inbox, of the messages I’d batch-erased without bothering to look at the senders’ names, and my bewildered rage began to drain away. “Oh. No. I guess I didn’t.”

  He frowned. “That’s weird. Maybe there was some kind of interference?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” I blinked hard, trying to process the flood of new information. Something clicked into place. “Wait. Fletcher Simon? I’ve heard of you. You’re some kind of prodigy, right?”

  He winced. “I think that’s putting it a little strongly.”

  “But you were second on the List.”

  “That’s right.”

  I remembered Governor Tavri’s show of false concern on the night before I left Arkhati. “I knew you were headed this way. I should have known you’d be here.” So this was what Officer Rathis had meant by A section of the starhaven has been cordoned off exclusively for human use. Human use. Not my personal use. I’d just assumed that was what he meant.

  “From what I understand, you’ve had a lot going on.”

  “You can say that again.” Another thought struck me. “Wait a minute. Why are they even letting me talk to you? Isn’t everyone on this starhaven terrified of infection? An hour ago I was locked in some kind of horror-show hospital ward. Why put the two of us in the same place? Isn’t there a risk of contagion?”

  “You spoke to Specialist Irnik, didn’t you? Asking to be released from quarantine?”

  “Yes.” I considered that particular encounter and added, “Loudly.”

  “Well, either your arguments or your volume must have done the trick. I didn’t think we’d be meeting face-to-face for another few days, but a little while ago I got a call from your ship’s physician saying you’d been discharged from quarantine early and that you’d probably be pissed off and hungry.” He added with cautious levity, “She was half right, at least.”

  “She was all right. She usually is.”

  “That’s good, because I doubled my recipe.” Another smile. Was this what humans did—scatter warmth like sunlight? Or was he trying to put me at ease? He waved to the bottle in its bath of ice. “I was serious about the champagne. Don’t make me drink alone.”

  “I . . .” I hesitated. “Sure. I guess. I assume we’re being watched, so if no one shows up to knock the glass out of my hand, it’s probably safe with whatever they gave me last night.”

  His expression sobered. “Right. Jesus. What a clusterfuck.”

  The word was so apt and so unexpected that I gave an unladylike snort of laughter. “Yeah, exactly. I wonder if the Vardeshi have a word for that.”

  “If they didn’t have one before they discovered humanity, you can bet they’ve got one now.” He opened the champagne bottle with a practiced hand and tipped its foaming contents into two senek cups, another startling juxtaposition. He passed one to me. “Care to make a toast?”

  I clinked my cup against his. “To the Strangers.” It was the same toast I’d used with Kylie.

  “To the Strangers,” he agreed. “And to not being the only human in the room.”

  For the next few minutes, while he put the finishing touches on his sauce, I studied Fletcher Simon. He must have known I was doing it, but he moved among the items arrayed on the table with a perfect lack of self-consciousness. He was a little taller than me and of medium build, which must make him one of the largest people on Elteni. The T-shirt he wore in apparent disregard for the starhaven’s coolness revealed a physique that was trim but not overly muscled. It also revealed a skin tone several shades darker than my own. It hardly seemed possible that he’d been locked away from the sun, as I had, for six full months. After the monochrome grays of the Vardeshi, he was startlingly golden. His hair was golden too, and as he glanced up to meet my appraising look, I saw that his eyes were a lucent aquamarine. So much color. Its richness astonished me. Was this what I looked like to my crewmates? I reached deep into Hathan’s memories, to his first glimpse of me across the interview table, but any response to my appearance had been swept cleanly away by his incredulity at being addressed in his own language. A dryly precise voice in my head that sounded more like his than it had three weeks ago reminded me that Kylie had blond hair and blue eyes too, and I hadn’t been nearly so awestruck by the sight of her.

  “Elteni to Avery,” Fletcher said lightly, reclaiming my attention. “I lost you there for a minute. What were you thinking about?”

  “Just . . . First impressions.”

  “And? How am I doing?”

  I reached for deflecting humor and found it ready to hand. “Well, you’re not a creepy medical examiner, and you haven’t asked me any probing questions about the Flare, so it’s safe to say you’re doing better than anyone else on Elteni.”

  “I thought I’d save the interrogation for after dinner.”

  We ate sitting on stools pulled up to one end of the long table, the bottle of champagne between us. Between bites of a surprisingly good penne all’arrabbiata, Fletcher told me about his five months on the Azimuth. He was a sharp observer and a witty raconteur, and I thoroughly enjoyed his account of the journey. His experience had been similar to Kylie’s, generally smooth sailing with the requisite handful of misunderstandings and cultural gaffes. He glossed over the language aspect, but I had the impression that communication, on the whole, had not been a problem. I wondered what his Vardeshi sounded like at thi
s point. The little I knew of him suggested it was substantially better than my own. I was going to have to brace myself for the inevitable ego check. Over a dessert of authentic Swiss chocolate, which had unquestionably come from Fletcher’s stash, as my own was long gone, he told me about his month on Elteni. I noticed a conspicuous lack of late-night room invasions and grueling quasi-medical trials in the narrative. I could hear in his voice that he was still enraptured with the strangeness of the place, and I had to fight the urge to tell him how much I hated it. “And then you showed up,” he said. “The end. Your turn.”

  “Oh.” I made a face. “You were serious about saving the interrogation for after dinner. I hoped that was a joke.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

  “You’ve probably heard most of it already,” I hedged.

  “But not all of it. And not from you.”

  I looked down at the silver foil chocolate wrapper, which I’d been absently folding into precise squares while I listened to him talk. “I’m not against talking about it. But I don’t think I’m up for it tonight.”

  “That’s fine,” he said easily. “What do you want to talk about instead?”

  “How’s it going overall? The exchange, I mean. I’ve been a little . . . out of touch.”

  Fletcher nodded. “There have been some growing pains. A couple more Strangers have tapped out. Pretty much what you’d expect, homesickness and problems with the language. Some idiot on an orbit crawler misread the label on a food canister and nearly died of anaphylaxis. And there’s been some violence. On both sides. An anti-alliance faction jumped one of our guys at a bar on Evrathi Starhaven. Security got there fast, but he’s got a concussion and a broken jaw. Right after that, there was an attempted rape of one of the Vardeshi reps on Earth.” Here he stopped, as if uncertain whether to continue.