Chapter Fourteen

Finding Help

No time to waste—Marissa was at Torwin’s office an hour ahead of schedule with the tablet in hand. She’d hoped the Prime Minister might see her early, but when she arrived at the parliament building, she had to wade through a sea of politicians and reporters just to get to the waiting room, which was likewise packed like a can of sardines. All seats taken, she stood in the corner between two men on phones who might have been sharing the same call.

Everyone in this room dressed like Arc, or maybe it was the other way around: dark-coloured suits, nice-looking shoes, heavy briefcases. Marissa felt out of place in just a plain blouse and skirt, and after a few minutes of feeling like a circle among squares, she left for the main hall once more. She propped her back against one of the large pillars that supported the high ceiling and swept a casual eye over the crowd. There were plenty of humans here, but she spied a few spiny-backed Phal standing guard by the entrance, and a sizable number of frog-like Dwin personnel trying to persuade the reporters that towered over them to leave. There was an uneasy air in the room, as if everyone expected to hear the proclamation of war any minute now, and Marissa found it just as stifling as the waiting room. When the time came for her appointment, she was glad to get out of there.

Torwin’s office was about what Marissa had expected from the workplace of a Prime Minister. Diplomas from some of the Kinship’s most distinguished universities hung from the wall: Aegis Orbital, Hazdra Institute of Study, Domin Seven. Beside these were a number of decorations and awards, along with a few photos of Torwin shaking hands with other probably-notable people. Marissa took a seat, reading the title of one certificate, only to forget it when she moved onto the next. All very prestigious, enough to make Marissa feel a little overwhelmed.

Torwin coughed lightly from her seat at the other side of her desk, grabbing Marissa’s embarrassed attention. The Prime Minister was in her forties, but had hardly a wrinkle, and she looked very distinguished in a dark blue suit. A pair of sharp-edged glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, seeming to put a sort of barrier between her bright eyes and Marissa. She smiled a small, polite smile.

“Hello, Marissa,” she said, folding her hands on her desk. “How are you doing? I thought you sounded better when we last spoke.”

“I’m doing good,” Marissa replied, barely able to contain her excitement. “I’ve got something to show you.” She placed the tablet on the desk between them and slid it towards Torwin.

Torwin picked it up, adjusting her glasses as she looked at the screen with an analytical expression. “A signature—Arc’s signature.”

Marissa grinned. “There’s a triangle up in the corner—push it.”

Torwin complied, hardly reacting when the screen changed. “A map. Yes, I see the triangle. Let me think, that would be… not too far from Croish, somewhere out in unclaimed territory.” She set the tablet down and met Marissa’s eyes, a tingle running down the gladiator’s spine as she anticipated the Prime Minister’s next words. “You think this is where Arc is?”

Marissa nodded vigorously. It took some effort not to brazenly suggest Torwin’s next course of action herself.

Torwin dropped her gaze to the tablet and sighed. “Where did you get this?”

Marissa explained the circumstances of its arrival, including its lack of a sender. Torwin’s expression was as hard as a rock as she listened, betraying nothing of her thoughts on the matter. Her hands were a different story; her fingers squeezed tightly together, and one of her thumbs tapped rhythmically against the other. When Marissa finished speaking, Torwin’s hands did not.

There was a brief pause before Torwin chose to speak. “Marissa, have you considered that this might be fake?”

The directness of the question unseated Marissa’s enthusiasm, and she scrambled to answer. “I did, but I couldn’t think how anyone could be cruel enough to do such a thing. It’s real. I don’t know who sent it, but I’m sure it’s genuine.”

The restless rhythm of Torwin’s thumb picked up its tempo. “Marissa, I know this whole thing has been hard for you, and that it’s tempting to believe you might hold the solution, but I don’t think this is it. If whoever sent this was genuine, why send it to you instead of someone in the government—to me? Why be so cryptic about it?”

Those were good questions, but Marissa had already asked them herself and come up with her own answers. “Maybe whoever sent this is some sort of spy, or a traitor to the people who took Arc. The secrecy is because this person doesn’t want to be found out if the message is discovered. Better to muddy the trail by getting it to you through me.” She had her doubts about this conclusion herself, of course. Coach had said his friend sent the tablet, so was that friend a spy? Was Coach a spy? This was assuming they existed at all, of course.

“That’s a possibility,” said Torwin. “But this isn’t enough to justify a search.”

Marissa slammed her hands on the desk, the wood nearly cracking beneath the impact. “Why not?”

Torwin remained calm, although Marissa caught a flash of her teeth. “Do you know what people would think if I sent a search party so near Alliance territory based on information provided by an anonymous source via a barely functioning bootleg tablet? They’d think I was crazy.”

Marissa leaned back in her chair. “You think I’m crazy.”

“I think you’re feeling miserable, and desperate for a way to end that misery,” Torwin replied. “I’m sorry, Marissa—we’ll find Arc, but this isn’t the way to do it. I can’t act on so little information.”

Marissa stood and snatched the tablet from the desk. “Then I’ll find someone who will!” She spared a glare for Torwin, then stormed out of her office. So much for the Prime Minister.

* * *

The meeting with Torwin cast a pall on Marissa’s day. Every step she took had her wanting to turn around and go back into that office to try again. She’d messed up somehow, hadn’t argued her case well enough. Arc would have persuaded Torwin, would have gotten exactly what he’d wanted with a handful of words. Marissa didn’t have his eloquence, and all she’d convinced Torwin of was that she was a fool.

She jumped on the bus and rode it back home. She considered visiting the stadium to hit her worries away, but her heart wasn’t in it. She locked the door when she got home and groaned into her pillow for a few hours. The day was free of intrusive phone calls, which was a small blessing; she feared what she might say in her current state. It was mid-afternoon when she finally pulled herself out of bed. The tablet was waiting for her in the living room, flashing on the coffee table where she’d left it. She turned it face down, weary of its impossible promises. What she wanted right then was a sandwich, a desire easily dealt with.

What now? She had no Plan B. She’d assumed Torwin would have jumped at the clue just as she had and shared in her enthusiasm. That assumption had probably cost her the only chance she had of getting Torwin to help. She needed new allies, someone else interested in Arc’s well-being who could also afford to send a force to find him. No one came to mind.

Coach’s friend had sent the tablet; why couldn’t he have sent Arc instead? Come to think of it, Marissa didn’t even know what condition Arc might be in. Was he a prisoner, or was he in hiding from the people who had attacked the Consortium? She refused to believe he’d had any hand in the attack, or that he did not want her to find him; ten years together had given her a deep insight into what Arc was capable of. He could not betray anyone, not like that.

She turned the TV on, hoping to hear of some development she’d missed while out. She got a start when Arc’s face, scarred and intense, appeared on screen. He stood at a podium in a dark room before a large crowd, waiting patiently but tensely as another man across from him droned on about imperial economic statistics. It was all very familiar. As the camera panned across the attentive faces in the audience, Marissa caught sight of a younger version of herself, leaning her chin on her knuckles and looking very bored.

She put a hand over her face, embarrassed for her past self. She remembered now; this was a recording from years ago, when Arc’s storytelling had begun to turn him towards politics, and sparked an interest from higher minds. This had been at one of Aegis’ big universities, where Arc had been asked to debate against one of the Kinship’s leading experts on Empire society. Marissa couldn’t recall the man’s name, nor did she care to; he had been planning to destroy Arc’s reputation in that debate, wanting to expose him as nothing but an uneducated thug. Things had not quite gone that way.

Back on screen, Arc began to speak. “Your understanding of the inner workings of the Empire is expansive, to say the least. However, most of it seems to be informed by the statements of Emperor Bythos himself, who’s far from an unbiased source. We can forgive that, I think—why spend your life studying the Empire if you didn’t share some of its sympathies?”

The audience erupted into gasps and hushed conversations, punctuated by shouts to have Arc removed, and yes, a few laughs. Back in the present, Marissa still grinned at his boldness. Arc’s opponent was red as a tomato, but it was not his turn to speak.

“Much as it pains me, I should inform you that you’re wrong,” Arc continued. His expression seemed completely serious, but Marissa knew he hid a smile deep down. “You say that slaves have a chance for upward social mobility. I would like to emphasize ‘chance’—given the odds, you’re better off betting on lightning strikes. What you describe is a common claim made to slaves, and it’s a load of shit so big you could fuel a star ship with it.” That got a near-universal laugh from the audience. “You make the mistake of thinking imperial slaves are simply indentured servants, and that they will be free once they work off their debt. My wife was snatched from a Kinship colony when she was just a child—what debt was she paying off when she was forced to be a cleaning girl for the next decade? I was sold to a Darem master and made to fight indefinitely as punishment for a minor felony. There was no justifiable reason for our enslavement—we were taken because the Empire needed to fill roles that free citizens would not take. The labour done far exceeds whatever debt the slave has incurred, and if they ever do gain their freedom, they are left without any means of providing for themselves. They commit crimes to survive, and as punishment are forced back into labour, most likely until the day they die. They leave behind children too, who have no choice but to follow the same path—would you tell me that they’re paying off a debt from being born? The notion that slaves have any chance of success in the Empire is an illusion. The cycle of slavery has only created an underclass from which the nobility can pluck unwilling bodies to serve them.”

Arc was good with big words. The lords used words as well, to confuse people below them, to show how superior they were. Arc used them differently, to prove a point, and he took a certain joy in using the nobles’ tools against them.

The debate came to a close shortly after, and the applause Arc received made it clear who had won the popular vote. That was his new arena, where words took the place of swords and spears, where truth and righteousness trumped strength. As the recording ended, a speaker informed the viewers that Arc Rhapsody was still missing after the attack on the Consortium.

Marissa shut the TV off, her thoughts turning every which way. The thought that came most powerfully was a recollection of her early years in slavery, when she’d been brought as a quietly sobbing little girl to the manor of Lord Ramus. She’d started off with the simple tasks—scrubbing floors and dusting furniture, general cleaning duties. Lady Ramus’ shopping trips had come a few years in, when her unusual strength became common knowledge among the servants, but that wasn’t so bad as long as she followed instructions.

For many of those years, she’d thought herself lucky to work for a human lord. There were always rumours about other houses, where Darem and Zulkar lords enacted great cruelties upon their human slaves. Meanwhile, Lady Ramus was kind—for an Imperial—and preferred a harsh tongue lashing to beating a disobedient slave, so long as their transgression didn’t involve her expensive clothes. The lord of the house was often out during the day, doing whatever it was lords did, so Marissa was rarely in his presence. But they’d had three sons, and two of them had been near Marissa’s age.

They’d ignored her in the early years, taught that slaves were barely worth noticing, and Marissa had likewise paid them little attention. Then she began to grow up, and grow out, and the boys were at just the right age to notice. It had started with a few rude jokes in her presence, or a whispered obscenity, things she could ignore. She began to feel their eyes on her all the time, following her around the manor as she’d worked. They would contrive situations to stop her in the hall, casually fondling her rear before letting her go. It had been a frustrating and confusing time, but she had no way to make it stop; they owned her, after all. Then one day the youngest son tried to take one liberty too many, and Marissa had broken his arm, more out of fear than anger. After that, she was sold off to the fighting pits with no regrets.

That was not a story Arc told, not without asking Marissa’s permission. He could have, and a less scrupulous speaker would have milked it for all the sympathy it was worth, but Arc had told her more than once that his own story was enough. Some critics accused him of marginalizing her, of ignoring her experiences to put himself centre-stage, but Marissa knew better. Arc respected her enough not to use her life as a tool for his own purposes. It was her story to tell, he’d once said, and Marissa loved him all the more for that.

Thinking about Arc’s work sparked another question; would one of his friends be able to do something? It was hard to say who was Arc’s friend and who was just a colleague; he never bothered to distinguish the two for Marissa, and she wondered if they blended together in his mind. When they had someone over for dinner, it was always either a politician or someone looking for an interview. Arc didn’t seem to have anyone like Arlen, or Zurn, or even Matt. Torwin was probably closest, but she’d been ruled out. Marissa sometimes wondered if Arc ever felt lonely, but he’d assured her she was all he needed.

There was one friend that they shared, although it had been some time since Marissa had seen him. Papos Eth, owner of Eth Stellar Freighters, a fairly lucrative shipping company. Unknown to most, he was also a partner in a nameless organization that worked to extract slaves from the Empire and give them a new home in the Kinship. He had played a big part in her freedom and Arc’s, and had been in command of the Rhapsody while it had still been flying. These days, Papos was largely part of planning instead of doing the heavy lifting, as he was getting on in years. Marissa and Arc had visited him several times over the last decade, infrequently to avoid attracting attention to his side business, and he was always happy to see them. He had given them their new life, so maybe he could help the Rhapsodys one more time.

Marissa grabbed the tablet and headed for the door. No time to call ahead; she’d wasted enough time arranging an appointment with Torwin, and she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Papos would want to talk to her.

* * *

Papos had his office in one of his warehouses, where materials and shipments were stowed until they were sent up to one of the shipyards in orbit around Aegis’ moon. The door to the warehouse was open, and Marissa wandered the rows of shelves and shipping crates until a man driving a forklift directed her towards a small door at the back of the building. She knocked, and a voice invited her in.

The office was on the small side, but then again, so were most Dwin. There was no desk, only a low table that one might keep in their living room. Papos was seated in a reclining chair, but rose as Marissa entered.

“Marissa!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. With his squat body, wide grinning mouth, and large disc-like eyes, Papos bore an unfortunate resemblance to a toad, albeit a well dressed one. Still, Marissa did not hesitate to put her arms around her almost-spherical friend. She was just as happy to see him as he was her.

Papos broke the hug and took her hands between his webbed fingers. “How are you, dear?” Dwin signalled concern through a contraction of the eyes, like they were flinching, and Papos’ all but vanished beneath the folds of his skin.

Despite the situation that had brought her there, Marissa smiled. “I don’t really know. I’m happy to see you, though.”

“Take a seat, please. Would you like something to drink?” Papos was already moving for the coffee maker, purpose glimmering in his large eyes.

“Thank you.” Marissa dropped into a soft chair, revising her opinion of Papos’ office. It was cozy, not cramped, and everything—shelves, chairs, table—fit neatly into the small but adequate space.

Papos set a cup of coffee on the table in front of her before taking his seat, sipping at his own drink. “I’m glad to see you up and about. I know you’re not the type to give up, but losing Arc must be hard.” He caught Marissa’s look and croaked quietly. “I meant lost as in misplaced, of course. That boy survived the pits—whatever happened with those Aquila fellas isn’t going to keep him down.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” said Marissa. She didn’t know if Papos was being genuine or just humouring her, but she chose to believe the former.

Papos’ nostrils flared. “I see the news reports, and you wouldn’t believe the things they’re saying. Dead? Pah! They clearly don’t know Arc. But then there are those who say he killed those Aquila, and is hiding like some coward. Those ones really phlegm up my appendices! How dare they, when none of us have all the evidence yet?”

Papos’ indignation paradoxically lifted Marissa’s spirits. “Ignore them—people always have opinions to push, and it’s only practical to take advantage of a public tragedy. So, what do you think happened to Arc?”

Papos set his mug down and pressed the pads of his fingers together. “Hell if I know. I figure if anyone knows, it’d be the government.”

“Hardly,” Marissa sighed. “I talked with the PM herself. She says they’re trying to find Arc, but they’ve got their hands full with keeping the Aquila from declaring war.”

“That’s about the same as always,” said Papos. “Government always says they’d like to help, if only they weren’t busy with this other thing. Then once that’s solved, some scandal happens, and everyone’s forgotten what the government said they’d do.”

Having met a fair number of politicians, Marissa thought Papos was being a little harsh, but she didn’t care to argue the point. “How’s business?”

“Just swell,” said Papos, throat puffing out with pride. “I’ve got a few more contracts for shipping supplies to the outer colonies in the last year—that’s a pretty profitable avenue, especially as the populations increase. I’ve also had a few reports of pirates pestering my cargo ships, but I haven’t lost anyone, thank goodness.”

Marissa nodded, patiently. “I was actually asking about your other business.”

Papos’ throat deflated in a long, noisy exhale. “Of course. Would you do an old man a favour and go lock the door?”

Marissa complied, then returned to her seat. She leaned towards Papos, gripping the edge of the table. “So?”

Papos’ eyelids slid back, seeming to double the size of his eyes. “Overall, I’d say we’re doing all right, but of course we could be doing better. We liberate about a hundred slaves every year from around the Empire, and we’ve currently got our eyes on twice that many for future transportation. I’ve set aside five ships for crossing the Serpent’s Head, and our contacts in the Empire have a few of their own. Right now, money isn’t too big of an issue, although it will get tighter without Arc’s donations—the biggest problem is keeping the payments discreet.”

The wind left Marissa’s lungs for a moment, and she sputtered to speak. “Wait, go back—what was that about Arc?”

Papos seemed to freeze, except for a quivering lower lip. “Did I say anything about Arc? Oh, yes, you asked me what I thought had happened to him. Forgive me—I am old and forgetful. I thought I’d already answered.”

“You did, and that’s not what I’m talking about,” Marissa narrowed her eyes. “You said something about Arc making donations. What are you hiding from me?”

“If you’re asking, then he hasn’t told you,” said Papos, “and if he hasn’t told you, then he didn’t want you to know. I must respect his wishes.”

“Papos…” Marissa couldn’t hide the hurt. The old Dwin had many secrets, but to keep one from her—one about her husband—stung. That Arc had been in on it only made the pain deeper. “Papos, please—I need to know.”

Papos gave a short croak, mulling over the matter. “Fine—I guess it couldn’t hurt now. Arc has been providing money to our organization for the past few years, just enough to buy some new stealth thrusters or update the onboard sensors. Even small payments are a big help, and that money has probably gotten our ships out of more than one jam.”

Marissa felt as if the floor had vanished from under her and she was falling through empty space. All these years, she’d thought she’d known everything about Arc, but she had never even guessed at this. It was completely like him as well, doing what he could to help people who lived the miserable life of a slave, but it had slipped by her. She felt betrayed for not having been told, but even more so, she felt stupid for not seeing it. Arc had always handled the finances, but she guessed their combined income might keep them living comfortably even while he funded this new hobby.

“Is that all?” she asked, shakily.

Papos hesitated, then twisted his dome-like head. “He’s performed small tasks for us when we asked—bought ship tickets to move our refugees further into Kinship space, paid a few border patrols to look the other way when a ship flying faux-imperial colours comes through. If you take that along with all the activism he does publicly, I’d say he’s been incredibly helpful, enough to earn him the trust of our organization.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Marissa’s words came out in a dry whisper.

Papos raised his hands to the sides of his face, clenching them into anxious fists. “Marissa, what we do is illegal. Can you imagine what would happen if anyone found out Arc was funding what appear to be Empire businesses? It’s treason, no matter how righteous the cause. He would be arrested and thrown in prison. You too, if you had any knowledge of his actions. He was protecting you from that.”

Marissa folded her arms tightly over her chest. “I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.”

“You can,” Papos agreed, “but I can’t blame Arc for wanting to make sure. Love is rarely rational.”

That was true. Arc had done the same when they’d made their escape to the Rhapsody, prepared to die for her when she was far more likely to survive anyway. Arc’s secrets weren’t truly comparable, but Marissa found it easier to be calm once she knew the why of it.

“He was just looking out for me,” she said, thinking aloud. “Just like I’d do for him.”

“Exactly,” said Papos. “If you’re still unsure, you can ask him yourself once he’s found.”

That seemed as good as an opening as any. She produced the tablet and handed it to Papos.

“What’s this?” the old Dwin asked, prodding at the screen.

“A map to Arc.” Marissa explained its mysterious appearance quickly, then detailed her unsuccessful meeting with Torwin. “I thought that since you have the resources and know Arc, you might consider trying to find him.”

“All right,” said Papos.

The straightforward answer knocked Marissa off her mental footing, and she struggled to form a coherent sentence. “B-but—just like that?”

“Just like that.” Papos grinned as only a Dwin can, a wide curve that crossed most of his face. “Arc is the closest thing our organization has to a public face, even if he isn’t officially part of it, and more importantly, he’s my friend. Her Prime Ministerliness might say this isn’t enough to go on, but I don’t see any other leads. If it’s fake, well, then it’s nothing and there’s no risk. But if it’s genuine, then it might be our only chance of finding Arc. I can’t turn that away.”

“Thank you,” said Marissa, speaking from the bottom of her heart. She was filled with an assortment of emotions—relief, joy, worry—and no words seemed adequate to express them. “What will you do?”

“This isn’t work for Eth Stellar Freighters, I’ll tell you that,” said Papos. “But I can think of a few members of the organization who would jump at the chance to help Arc Rhapsody—I’ll give them a call.”

Wariness suddenly came over Marissa. “Papos, whoever attacked the Consortium probably has Arc. It just occurred to me—they’re going to be armed to the teeth.”

Papos gave her a slightly patronizing smile. “Even my legal freighters don’t go about their work completely unprotected. I’ve employed mercenaries as ship guards for decades—this’ll be a nice change of pace for them. Hell, if I didn’t think this was urgent, I’d go and hire a Rashani as well.”

“Thank you, again.” Marissa had forgotten how generous Papos could be. It was shameful how long she’d waited to visit him again.

“Don’t you worry about it,” said Papos. “I’ll organize it all and we’ll be back with your husband in no time. You go home, get some rest, then get back to practising that punch of yours. I saw that last match—whew! My heart was racing so fast, I thought I’d keel over right then.”

Marissa smiled, then shook her head. “I want to come with you.”

It was Papos’s turn to look surprised. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Maybe not, but it’s what I want to do,” Marissa insisted. She refused to stand down on this. “When Arc’s found, I want to be there to know it. I’m sick of all this worrying crap.”

“Marissa, please,” said Papos, his croaky voice becoming oddly soothing. “I understand how you feel. I bet you think not having Arc here is like losing a limb—”

“It’s like losing my heart!” Marissa interrupted. “Either I go, or I take this map and find someone else.”

Papos slumped in his chair, massaging his eye-ridges. “I don’t think you’ll find anyone else. Fine, you can come, but you better be prepared. I don’t think my heart could take losing both of the Rhapsodys.”

Marissa assured him she wasn’t going anywhere, and they said their goodbyes, along with a promise that Papos would call when everything was ready. Marissa slept soundly that night, now that she knew things were moving along. More importantly, she was the one moving them.