Bright Shards

by Meg Pechenick

  We climbed steadily as the day brightened around us. The slope was precipitously steep. Almost at once the tree cover gave way to exposed rock, and I found myself climbing with my hands as much as my feet. I kept up with Hathan, just. Despite being in front of me, he seemed to know exactly when my longing for a pause or a water break turned into desperation. Conversation was impossible, which was fine by me. I felt no compulsion to draw him into talk about last night; as far as I was concerned, the terms of our assignation were clear, and I had no intention of bringing it up ever again. But it might have been difficult to talk around the fact that we had made love only hours before, and I wasn’t at all confident that I could do that particular verbal dance while scaling a mountain. Better not to try.

  By midday we had reached the foot of the sheer cliff I had been dreading since I caught a good glimpse of it the day before. We stopped for water and a snack: handfuls of trail mix for me, unappetizing foil-wrapped cubes of some pressed vegetable protein for him. The air was chilly, but I had stripped off as many layers as I decently could, and I was still red and sweating. Hathan, naturally, showed not the slightest sign of being inconvenienced by the grade of the climb or the weight of his pack, which, as I discovered when I passed it to him, outweighed mine by a factor of three.

  As we shouldered our packs for the last time, he hesitated, on the verge of saying something. Then he visibly dismissed the impulse. I wondered if he had been about to remind me of the importance of discretion. I could have told him there was no need. I was only too conscious of how high the stakes were for both of us. I took off my baseball cap, tucked away a strand of hair, put the cap on again, and nodded at him. “Ready when you are.”

  “I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go lose the Outmarch.”

  I made it, in the end, because someone—I suspected Zey—had climbed back down the cliff at some point in the intervening hours and put guiding ropes in place at all the trickiest spots. Fastened at each end and knotted at intervals, they were as good as railings. I didn’t know if using them qualified as cheating in the eyes of Outmarch Control, or whether the fact of our having been teammates excused the intervention. I didn’t care. If they wanted to disqualify me, they could. But they could damned well do it after I’d finished my hike.

  I climbed doggedly upward, eyes fixed on the next achievable ledge, testing each foothold and handhold before committing my weight to it. Each foot of altitude gained was a tiny triumph. Hathan was behind me for this last stretch, near enough to catch me if I fell. I trusted him, but I trusted myself more. It was by no means a quick or a graceful climb, but at midafternoon, a shade under a full Rikasan day after I’d intended to, I finished the Outmarch. I dragged myself over the last precipice, saw the number of people who had assembled to greet me, turned my back on them all, and sat kicking my heels over the abyss while I caught my breath. Now, at last, I could appreciate the view. And it was magnificent.

  Zey came over and dropped down beside me. “How’d it go?”

  I was drinking from my water flask, but I gave him a thumbs-up.

  He grinned. “No nocturnal disturbances?”

  “Not a single flashback,” I said, which was the truth. “Was it you who put the ropes out there?”

  “Yeah. Thought you might need a boost.”

  “Literally. Thanks. I wouldn't have made it without them.”

  “Now I have to climb back down and get them. But first let’s go be political.” He got up and put out a hand to help me to my feet.

  I took it gratefully. My legs, it seemed, had done more of the work than I’d realized. I was laughing, half out of surprise at my unsteadiness, half out of relief at having conquered the cliff, when I came face-to-face with the Outmarch staff. I recognized most of them from the day before. I wasn’t too tired to produce a friendly greeting and a crisp Vardeshi salute. Salutations were exchanged, first with the Echelon personnel, then with my crewmates, most of whom had come out to watch the finish. Reyna cut across the last of these with her habitual forthrightness. “Where’s your challenge ring?”

  “Oh.” The events of last night had driven everything else from my mind. Flustered, I searched through my pack until I found my bikini top. “Right here.” I tried to free the ring from the strap where it had lived for the past few days, but the knot proved too much for my stiff fingers. I shoved the entire thing at her and was mildly horrified when she handed it on to Director Anziar, who passed it in front of her flexscreen. A musical chord sounded. There was a murmur from those watching.

  “My congratulations,” said the director in tones of mild surprise. “Just under ten standard days.”

  “I think you mean eleven,” I said apologetically. “I should have done it in ten. The next humans will be faster.”

  “No, I meant ten.” She turned the screen around to show me a list of names. The bottom one was mine. Beside it was a square of pulsing orange light. I looked uncomprehendingly at Reyna.

  “The challenge,” she said patiently. “You earned back a full day.”

  “What?”

  “The swimming task was unconventional. The course engineers assigned it a high value. The challenge ring deducted a full day from your time.” Seeing my still-disbelieving expression, she said more emphatically, “You made it. Here.” She held something out to me: a small square of gray fabric with something pinned to it. I took it, bewildered, and looked closer. It was a tiny circle of white enamel, about the size of a thumbtack. “You wear it next to your rank insignia. White is for completion, black is for victory. See?” Reyna held out her own arm, showing me an identical white pin beside the familiar brass studs on her sleeve cuff.

  I was abruptly overwhelmed. Tears sprang to my eyes. I put a hand over my mouth in an attempt to hold in an undiplomatic squeak of surprise. My emotional response to her words was, I knew, all out of proportion to their meaning. The challenge system was arbitrary and ridiculous, as was the ten-day window. I had finished the course in eleven days. All those assembled knew it. The Echelon was choosing to declare that I had finished within the allotted time. It was a gesture of forgiveness, and a public one at that. They didn’t hold a grudge against me for choosing to stay with the Fleet. The relief, added to the emotions already roiling within me, was simply too much. I had just enough presence of mind to spin my overreaction in a politically useful direction, blurting out, “This is so nice of you guys, I don’t know what to say—” before I buried my head in Reyna’s shoulder and sobbed.

  When I calmed down, I found that the crowd had dwindled to a few onlookers, mostly medical staff. A couple of my crewmates were among them. Hathan wasn’t. The stab of loss I felt at finding him gone was surprisingly acute. For one full day I had had him all to himself. I had known that time would end today, but I hadn’t expected it to happen so quietly. I wiped my eyes and apologized for my excessive display in a voice still trembling with emotion. The Outmarch staffers brushed my excuses away with what I guessed to be the magnanimous courtesy of people secretly thrilled to find themselves on the front lines of a scandal.

  Sohra, however, said anxiously, “Are you all right, Eyvri? I don’t even remember seeing you cry like that after the Flare.”

  “It happens when she’s tired,” said Zey. I gave him a grateful look, which he met with one at once sympathetic and wary. He was worried too, beneath his willingness to dismiss the concern of others. I wondered what he knew—or guessed—about last night.

  * * *

  After two weeks of rallying physically to meet the challenges of the Outmarch, I found that the Perch presented a different kind of challenge. I quickly saw that the medical personnel I encountered yesterday must have been shielding me from unwanted attention. Now my presence here was openly declared, and as a human and a Fleet officer, I was doubly an interloper. I was also, unmistakably, a parcel. The Echelon had signed for me, and their first order of business was to make sure I’d been delivered intact. I was escorted to the clinic, where two Echelon doctors
, both female, asked my permission to perform a physical examination. Tenvi was there too. Her presence calmed my nerves a little. I had scrubbed assiduously in the river that morning, but I was still terrified that they would somehow scent Hathan on me. If they did, I had a lie prepared. I would say I’d been cold the night before and had slept in one of his shirts. In the end, there was no need. They didn’t ask any awkward questions.

  They did ask, in a perfunctory way, about the unexpected activity flagged by our medical transponders the night before. I repeated what Hathan had said in his message, that I had been having trouble falling asleep and we had done some calisthenics. I was irrationally afraid the doctors would ask me to demonstrate. They didn’t. They performed a thorough but gentle examination and said, with a relief evident even to me, that I appeared to be in excellent health, ankle and all, though my skin tone was a little darker than they’d been expecting. I chattered about radiation and the aesthetics of tanning until they cleared me to leave.

  The evening’s festivities commenced with a banquet, but by the time I had been shown to a tiny room on one of the upper levels of the Perch, it was clear that I wasn’t going to be in time for dinner. I waved away both doctors’ apologies. I’d been dreading the dinner almost as much as the reception itself. I devoured the hot meal someone had left in my room. Then I went down the hall to the shower. Tenvi had explained that there were no private showers at the Perch, but with everyone else at dinner, I was guaranteed a slot. I took my time about scrubbing the accumulated grime of Rikasa from my skin. Then I attempted to make myself presentable for the reception. I scowled at the scrapes on my nose and collarbone, now sporting white waterproof bandages, but there was nothing I could do about them. The Echelon doctors had told me to wear them proudly.

  “They’re badges of honor,” one had said. “No one makes it through the Outmarch intact.”

  I was just slipping into my dress when my flexscreen lit up with a message from Zey. Dinner’s just ending. Are you coming down?

  Not alone! I wrote back. Come get me. Five minutes?

  I ran nervous hands down over my hips, smoothing the line of the skirt, and studied the overall effect in the mirror. The dress had been elegant in the boutique in Zurich, but it looked better here, or maybe I wore it better. The fabric was as rich as I remembered, the style simple but flattering, and the blue set off my newly acquired tan. I slid my feet into ballet flats—possibly the best thing about Vardeshi height relative to human—and put in my diamond stud earrings. I was fussing with the clasp of the necklace I’d bought on Arkhati when the door chime sounded. “Come in,” I called.

  The door opened and Zey entered. He was wearing a long surcoat I hadn’t seen before, a rococo confection in gold brocade which he sported with the same jaunty confidence he had brought to my graphic T-shirt and ripped jeans at Earth Night on Arkhati. There was a glitter of gold on his cheekbones which I recognized as one of Kylie’s eyeshadows. His silver hair, standing up in its typical crown of spikes, looked to have been dusted with it as well. He looked like a tiny and potentially deranged sovereign. “Wow,” I said. “You look great.”

  “We both do. That’s quite a color.”

  “Apparently.” I sighed. “I didn’t know that when I bought it. In my culture, blue is pretty neutral.”

  “Who wants to be neutral? I like it.” He studied me critically. “Something’s different. Did you darken your skin tone? Or lighten your hair?”

  “Neither. Or both, but the sun did it for me.” I held out an arm, admiring my tan.

  “What’s wrong with your necklace?”

  “I think it’s tangled.”

  “Turn around.”

  I did. He came up behind me and lifted the chain out of my hands, his cool fingers brushing the back of my neck. “So, now that it’s just us, how was it really?”

  I didn’t ask what he meant. “Fine. Quiet.”

  He snorted. “I’ll bet it was. I’ll be honest, I was worried about you. Not about flashbacks, but about the other thing. The moonlight last night was pretty spectacular. I was afraid you’d give in to the urge to do something catastrophically stupid, like tell him how you felt.”

  There was laughter in his voice. I said irritably, “Of course not. Even I’m not that dumb.”

  “Okay, maybe not that. But something.”

  I was glad he couldn’t see my face as I answered. “I did hang around in my bikini for an unnecessarily long time. And it was damned cold down by the water. A human guy would have gotten the message.”

  “He’s not human. And the Flare casts a pretty long signal shadow.”

  And with that, I thought, it was time to close the subject. I said, aiming for the right note of wistful resignation, “In any case, it’s probably for the best.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely for the best. Just think how hellish the next two months would have been if you’d made a move and he’d turned you down. Which he would have, you know.”

  I said softly, “I know.”

  Zey stepped back. “There, that should do it. Are you ready to go downstairs?”

  I checked the fall of my necklace in the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me, hazel eyes tranquil in her tanned face. There was no sign in her expression that she was in the midst of lying yet again to a cherished friend. This lie was different though. I wasn’t only protecting myself this time. And some things demanded to be kept within. I could feel the memory waiting for me, resonant with a deep, secret calm, like clear water in a hidden well. I didn’t need to draw from it now. It was enough to know that it was there. I fastened my Outmarch finisher’s pin to the neckline of my dress, as Reyna had instructed, and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  I had only the haziest notion of where the reception was taking place, but as we made our way down to the main level, I could hear music and the hum of many voices. We entered a large room that was clearly the antechamber to an even larger one, and the noise seemed to double. Zey offered me his arm. I took it gratefully. “I didn’t think you guys did this.”

  “We don’t. I’m practicing for Earth.”

  “Oh, sure, you’re all about Earth culture now that it’s too late to swim.”

  He laughed. We went under the archway and into the hall. My senses were assailed by music, lights, voices, and the people to whom those voices belonged: the two hundred participants of the Outmarch, gathered before us in their most dazzling finery. All of them were looking in our direction. An excited susurration ran around the room. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. Things had been simpler in the woods. And quieter.

  The Outmarch reception was the first diplomatic event of its kind I had attended as the sole human present. I didn’t have Kylie or Fletcher to cling to. I missed them desperately. My crewmates were there, of course, but I was wary of leaning too heavily on them. For one thing, they were doing delicate work of their own, representing the Fleet in enemy territory; for another, I needed to demonstrate independence to our hosts. It was a difficult evening. I couldn’t dance. Everyone else could, and did. My avoidance of the dance floor was just one more thing setting me apart. The Echelon officers treated me with reserved courtesy, warming a little, some of them, when I spoke to them in their own language. But they watched me like photographers hunting for a coffee stain on a celebrity’s shirt. Their gazes ricocheted from my face to my hair to my Outmarch pin to my unadorned right hand. I heard no less than three stifled exclamations about my earrings. Other than the doctors who examined me and implanted my medical transponder the day we went soilside, and the handful of medical staffers I had met yesterday while half-delirious on pain medication, I hadn’t interacted with anyone other than my crewmates since we left Elteni. I had been living with most of them now for nine cramped months. Nothing I did or said or wore drew odd looks from them anymore. I had forgotten what it felt like to be an alien.

  I spotted Hathan immediately, of course. When I arrived, he was standing in a group of people near the door. He gave th
e lie to the doctor’s assertion that no one emerged unscathed from the Outmarch. He looked as fit and rested as if he’d just stepped down from the ramp of the Ascendant’s shuttle. His surcoat was deep red with copper-colored embroidery, similar in cut to Zey’s, but with fewer embellishments. The fabric had the textured gleam of velvet. He ought to wear red more often; it suited him. As I watched, he said something that made the others in his group laugh. I looked away quickly. I knew what I had to do, and I knew that I could do it. But it would make things easier if I didn’t look at him.

  I wished again that Kylie were there beside me. She would have known what to say: something sharp and caustic, a calculated sting to draw my attention away from the steady ache inside. Fletcher would have commented on the names of the dances. Or he would have joined in. He’d probably learned to dance, too, during those five dull months on the Azimuth. I stood on the sidelines, senek in hand, mostly for appearances since I was so tired that actually drinking the stuff would knock me right off my feet, and watched.

  The scene was undeniably enthralling. It reminded me of the long, intricate choreography of European dances of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries—or, more accurately, the depictions of them I’d seen in movies. I quickly realized that, while they had seemed bewilderingly complicated at the time, the dances Zey had selected for me really were the simplest ones possible. They had all been straightforward partner dances. These changed fluidly from partner to foursome to circle and back again. Each individual dancer on the floor—twenty or thirty of them at any given time—seemed to have an innate awareness of the position of everyone else. Like a flock of birds, they moved in concert, constantly making minute adjustments and realignments. Furthermore, they seemed to be able to do it all while carrying on effortless conversations with their partners. After a few minutes I gave up trying to follow the sequences and simply enjoyed the spectacle, which was not unlike the shifting patterns of a kaleidoscope. The Vardeshi favored black and white in their formal attire, but there were flashes of silver and gold and red and purple as well. There was little blue, and none lighter in shade than indigo. I didn’t consciously look for Hathan, but he crossed my field of vision a few times, first with a woman in silver and then with another in white.