After filling their cups with java, Dedrick glanced around the mess hall, searching for a likely group of eavesdroppers. He found a cluster of crew members chatting over their dinner at a table against the far bulkhead and nudged Eberhart in that direction. “Let’s sit down over there,” he said, pointing with his chin.
“Whatever you say, sir.”
“Leslie,” he warned her quietly, “this has to seem like a natural conversation or no one will believe a word of it.”
She arched her eyebrows and gave him a feline smile. “Watch me and learn, sir.”
With that, she turned and led the way to an empty table across the aisle from the one occupied by the designated rumor-spreaders. As she settled herself onto the bench, she declared abruptly, “I still say we should space them.”
Dedrick nearly spilled their drinks. “Wh— what?”
He stole a sideways glance. All talk had ceased at the other table, where nearly a dozen diners had suddenly become extremely interested in the contents of their plates.
All right, then. She’d grabbed them an audience. Not the way he would have done it, but effective nonetheless. Now for the show.
With deliberate haste, he set their cups on the table, then stepped over the bench and sank onto it, facing Eberhart. “Keep your voice down, Commander,” he scolded her in an undertone. “We have our orders.”
“Come on. It’s not as though we’d be killing anyone. Those Thryggians died when their ship crashed on Dimmla,” she said, her voice just loud enough to carry to the other side of the aisle. “I can understand the captain wanting to make a humanitarian gesture, and I respect him for that. But for all we know, the Thryggians might just consider those three corpses to be garbage and get rid of them the same way. Whether we space them or the Thryggians space them, what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that it will be the Thryggians doing it to their own. As you say, we don’t know what their funeral rites are or how they treat their dead. But even if we did know, that does not give us the right to dispose of them however it suits us, not if there’s a way to bring them home to their families where they belong!”
Eberhart stared at him, an unreadable expression playing across her features, and Dedrick suddenly realized two things: first, that he meant every word of his impassioned speech; and second, that he had been talking about more than Thryggian corpses.
“So, we’re traveling all that way and risking the wrath of the Great Council just to make a pile of scrap metal and three dead aliens disappear? Seems like a waste of effort to me,” she remarked softly.
Eberhart wasn’t talking about the Thryggians either. Dedrick wasn’t sure how it had happened, but suddenly they were having a very private conversation in a public place.
As an unaccustomed heat rose in his cheeks, he muttered, “I’m the only family she has, Leslie. She needs me. At least, I thought she did.”
His java was cold but he drank it anyway, in large swallows.
Eberhart laid a hand on his forearm and continued sotto voce, “Oh, she does. Almost as much as you need her. It’s okay to admit it, Gael. I understand.”
He turned puzzled eyes to her face. “Then why did you—?”
“—disapprove of your reason for taking leave? Because I happen to think that throwing away your career should be a last resort, not the first thing you do when you’re trying to help someone you care about.” Lowering her voice even further, she added, “And because I need you too. It’s bad enough that I may never sit in the same room as my brother again. I won’t lose you the same way.”
Dedrick risked a sidelong glance at the eavesdroppers’ table. Crew members were excitedly chattering amongst themselves. Soon every unit on the ship would be buzzing about the Thryggian bodies being returned home for proper funerals, and about Dedrick’s fierce defense of the captain’s decision. And perhaps also about the fact that the two watch commanders had just spent long moments in whispered conversation, staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes.
“I believe we’re done here, sir,” said Eberhart quietly, getting to her feet and moving toward the door.
Out in the corridor, he reminded her, “We never got around to mentioning the fifteen Kularians.”
“I don’t think it matters. We’ve thrown the grapevine into overdrive. At some point, someone will remember that you talked about taking the aliens home, and two plus two will become twenty-two. In the meanwhile,” she said, pausing to give him an uncertain smile, “I’m not on duty for another three hours. If you’d like to spend them with me, there’s a vid we haven’t watched yet in my inbox and I’ve still got some cookies in my quarters. The ones Sam sent me for Christmas, filled with real strawberry jam.”
He leaned backward, feigning shock. “Cookies? The ones you said I couldn’t taste until hell froze over? You’re willing to share them with me?”
“You can have one,” she told him primly, “as a peace offering. I’ve been a little hard on you lately, so it seems only fair.”
A little hard?
“Fair would be two cookies,” he decided.
“A cookie and a video. Take it or leave it, Gael.”
He took it.
For the next three hours they sat companionably together on her blue and white striped sofa, eating and talking while a lavish historical drama — her favorite genre — unfolded on Eberhart’s light screen. Now Dedrick was thoroughly confused. Did this “first date” mean they were about to resume their romantic relationship? Or was it her way of letting him know it was over? He had no idea. But the snacks were tasty, and the conversation enjoyable, so perhaps there was reason to hope.
When the video was over, he returned to his suite, carrying a cookie as a treat for Lania and remembering Eberhart’s parting words: “She’s fifteen years old. She’ll reach for your hand one second and push you away the next. You can’t always give her what she wants. No parent can. Just keep giving her what she needs, and everything will turn out okay.”
He sighed inwardly. What Lania needed was to forget her fears, and therein lay the problem. Not that she needed to forget, but what she needed to forget. Her fears weren’t the lingering residue of a single traumatic incident. They had been instilled and relentlessly reinforced by Abner, day after day for the first twelve years of her life. Lania would have to forget almost everything that had made her who and what she was. Amnesia could be induced, but then she would become a mystery to herself, constantly feeling incomplete and driven to search for answers. Eventually she would find them, and the truth would reignite her fears, putting her right back at square one.
Lania’s sleeping module was dark. Dedrick stepped quietly across the living area and placed the cookie on his desk. Then he leaned through the door of his cousin’s room to check on her.
Lying on her back in bed, she turned her head and looked at him. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small, whispery voice.
Dedrick’s heart constricted. “For what, Lania?”
“For making you angry.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then went to sit on the edge of her mattress. “I’ve never been angry with you.”
She sat up, frowning. He half-expected her to pull away from him and was relieved when she didn’t. “You were angry,” she persisted. “I could feel it.”
“Not at you. I get angry at anyone who might want to hurt you, or who tries to take advantage of you. Sometimes people pretend to be your friend so they can get close enough to take something away from you. It’s my job as your guardian to keep you safe from beings like that.”
“But he wasn’t pretending, Gael. He helped me. I looked at those Thryggians and I wasn’t afraid.”
“I saw.”
“And after that you were so angry you wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“That’s because I wasn’t sure who would be answering, you or him, and I didn’t really want to find out.”
She paused to digest this. “You avoided me because you were afraid?”
“Everyone’s afraid at some point, Lania. What matters is how you handle that fear.”
“He’s gone away. He promised not to leave, but then he told me he couldn’t help me anymore. Do you suppose maybe he’s afraid?”
Dedrick smiled inwardly. If he knows what’s good for him, he is.
—— «» ——
“It looks like one of the plants in Doctor Tam’s nursery.” Lania peered into the thirty-centimeter-tall transparent cube sitting on Gorse’s workbench in Engineering. Inside sat a fleshy brown bulb with things like tentacles radiating from a tuft of hair at its crown. They lay gray and inert on the bottom of the cube, each one long enough to touch one of the sides of the container.
It looked like a plant, but it wasn’t. It was some kind of machine, like the control console in Abner’s ship but immeasurably more powerful. Even out in the corridor, she had felt the raw energy sleeping inside that box. It had raced along her skin, made her nerves tingle — and drawn her irresistibly through the door and directly over to the table to investigate.
Gorse hadn’t seemed surprised to see her.
“Where did this come from?” she asked him.
“No one knows for sure,” he told her. “It’s very old.” A pause, then, “But that wasn’t really your question, was it?” He turned and met her curious gaze. “The brotherhood brought it aboard. They’re keeping it in a very deep sleep for now, but it’s going to help us complete the mission.” He studied her face for a moment more. “Ixbeth says that you have a special sense, that you’re able to detect potential energy. Is that how you knew it was here?”
Lania frowned. “I don’t know what potential energy means.”
“She told me that you talk about machines as though they’re alive, and for you, somehow, they are. A year ago, you ‘woke up’ a small ship and convinced it to protect you. You built yourself a computer that shares your feelings and won’t work for anyone else. And when we were on Altera earlier, you sensed an emotion from the technology in the Archives.”
“Yes. It was sad because it knew it was being abandoned.”
“You have a rare and special gift, Lania. The rest of us make a clear distinction between the organic and the inorganic, but to you it’s all the same.”
“Yorell says I’m dangerous.”
“Yorell is too busy enforcing the terms of the treaty to appreciate how unique you are. You’re an evolved Kularian. You’re a sample of what we might have become if we hadn’t been forced to give up our psi-powered technology all those thousands of years ago. If your parents hadn’t escaped when they did, the Thryggians would have created you in their laboratory. Your genome would have given them a blueprint from which to make many more like you. That’s the prospect that truly terrifies the Reyota, and it’s why the brotherhood had to come on this mission.”
“To stop the Thryggians?”
“Among others.”
—— «» ——
“According to Odysseus, we are approximately two standard days from the coordinates of the observation ship one year ago. Are we going to be ready?”
The mission team sat around the table in Takamura’s strategy room, radiating a variety of emotions. Ixbeth tasted their auras. When she sampled D’Ull’s, its darkness made her shiver inside. Her first impression of him had been correct. This being was capable of great cruelty, without a shred of remorse afterward. She hoped the same couldn’t be said of the brotherhood, although she had lately begun to have her doubts.
“Mister Pirrit, what’s the final word on that Thryggian vessel we salvaged?”
“It’s dead weight, Captain,” Gorse replied. “Its propulsion system is still a mystery. I could make it run on psi power, but since your intention is to load it with Thryggian corpses and crash it on one of the planets in their home system…”
“Quite right,” Takamura agreed. “There’s no point in leaving behind a piece of the very technology we’re here to prevent them from using. So, our short-hopper will have to tow the wreck through the space gate and then cut it loose in low orbit before delivering the brotherhood to wherever the Kularian ship has been hidden.”
“I insist on accompanying the brotherhood on this mission,” said D’Ull.
Alarm. Yorell was staring fixedly at her son — telepathically denying him permission, Ixbeth guessed.
“The brotherhood won’t allow it,” Gorse told them.
“The brotherhood don’t have a choice in the matter. The plan they forced on us dictated the placement of Docent Minegar and Lania Dedrick,” D’Ull pointed out. “It said nothing about Yorell or me. Since this mission was our idea, I think it’s only fitting that Yorell remain aboard ship to supervise while I go down to the planet to oversee that part of the operation.”
Regret. “I’m afraid I can’t allow it, Councilor,” said Takamura. “The moment you boarded this ship, my crew and I became responsible for ensuring that you arrived safely back on Kula’as. This mission entails a sufficient amount of risk that I cannot guarantee your safety if you leave the Marco Polo. And while the loss of the brotherhood in Thryggian space would be unfortunate, your loss would be far too difficult to explain without blowing the cover off this entire venture.”
Frustration. D’Ull glared around the table but was finally forced to concede. “Fine, then,” he snapped. “They go down there alone. But they’d better come out again, with that heavy ship.”
Tasting satisfaction, Ixbeth glanced at Gorse and saw a smile tweak the corners of his mouth. In that instant, she understood what the brotherhood must be planning to do, and why D’Ull was so worried about supervision.
The Kularian vessel was more than a getaway vehicle — it was also a devastating weapon. And it was never a good idea to place a weapon in the hands of someone you planned to attack, especially when your intended victims had already made it clear they didn’t trust you.
“Do we know where in their system the Thryggians have concealed the ship?” Dedrick asked, pulling Ixbeth’s thoughts back to the moment.
Yorell placed a datacube in the middle of the table. As she removed her hand, a holographic image sprang from the top of the cube. “The Thryggian star system,” she said. “Thrygg is the fourth of five planets, all roughly the same size and in elliptical orbit around a small yellow star. The third and fourth planets are both capable of supporting air-breathing life, but Thrygg is the only one in the system that does not alternate night and day.”
“So, one side is constantly in daylight and the other is always dark? If I wanted to hide something large, that’s where I would put it.” Dedrick jabbed with a forefinger that momentarily puckered the image. “Close by but completely out of sight.”
“That isn’t where it is,” said Gorse. “Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.”
A flash of anger. Dedrick scowled across the table at him. “The same way that Lania knew about those Thryggian corpses in Med Services?” When Gorse did not answer, Dedrick went on, “Captain, why don’t we just invite Noris to these meetings, since he seems to be present anyway?”
“Is this true, Mister Pirrit?” Takamura asked.
After a beat, he replied, “The brotherhood keeps records, some dating back to the Great War. When the terms of the treaty became known but before it was signed, the Kularian War Master arranged with an ally to safeguard one of the heavy ships from being destroyed. Its location was recorded for future reference, and that information has been passed down from senior brother to senior brother ever since. Noris knows where it is.”
“And?” Yorell prompted impatiently.
Another pause. “And he’ll reveal the place of concealment to the shuttle pilot once the mission has begun. Meanwhile, he recommends that the Thryggian craft be dropped onto the planet farthest from the star. The Thryggians will investigate, and that should distract them long enough to permit the heavy ship to be retrieved.”
Silence fell over the room like a smothering blanket. Ixbeth glanced around the table. A faint, mirthless smile had taken up residence on the captain’s face. Dedrick’s frown looked permanently etched on his. The Reyota had been stunned speechless. They were all just realizing what Ixbeth had suspected and Gorse had evidently known for a while: the moment the brotherhood had boarded the Marco Polo, and perhaps even earlier than that, this mission to Thrygg had been theirs to control.
“Well,” remarked Takamura, “it appears we’ve been given our plan.”
“More like our orders,” grumbled D’Ull. “Do you still believe the Thryggians are the greater threat, Commander?”
“To us, yes. To the Kularians? Maybe,” Dedrick replied. “It depends on how much explosive the Thryggians have used to booby trap that ship. Because if I were them and I’d decided not to give it back to its owners, that is exactly what I would do. Perhaps Noris should think twice about going down there, Mister Pirrit.”
“I’m sure he’ll take it under advisement, Commander.”
—— «» ——
Ixbeth caught up to Gorse as he was stepping into the tube car opposite the entrance to the strategy room. Her head was crowded with angry questions, all jostling and clamoring to be expressed. The only one that actually made it to her mouth was a single word. “When?” she demanded.
He turned and stared at her in puzzlement. “When what?”
“When did the brotherhood decide to set things in motion? Was it when the Thryggian ship showed up in Dimmlesi space?”
He tugged her inside the tube car and let the door close before answering. “You want to know whether Noris instructed your brother to contact you,” he said evenly, reaching across to key in their destination. His self-control was infuriating.
“At this point, I’m willing to believe that it wasn’t Tal at all,” she fumed. “Noris might have been the one who contacted me. You said it yourself, he’s been inside my head before. For all I know, he may still be there.”
“No. I can assure you that no one has bonded with you without your consent, and no one ever will.”
“How comforting. Now answer my question, Gorse. When did the brotherhood begin implementing their plan? Did they cause that Thryggian ship to enter Dimmlesi space?”
“Actually,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, “you did.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Shortly after you concluded your testimony at the Tribunal last year, Thryggian scout ships were dispatched to search for your birth world. Think about it, Ixbeth — all that pure Kularian genetic material in one place. Finding and harvesting it would save the Thryggians years of experimentation. And until you announced yourself to the tribunes, no one even knew it existed.”
Her thoughts were racing. “And the new quest Tal told me about, the one to locate other pure-blooded Kularian communities? It was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Sympathy, repressed. “The ship we recently salvaged wasn’t the first to come sniffing around the Dimmlesi system, but it was the first to bypass Dimmla and come directly to Altera. By then, the brotherhood had already realized what the Thryggians were up to and had devised a plan to move the Kularian population off Dimmla without causing panic. No one has lied to you, Ixbeth. The quest your people are now on is real, and so was Tal’s telepathic call for help.”
No one had lied to her? Perhaps. But no one had told her the truth, either, and that was the part that hurt.
She stared at Gorse, her gorge, sense hairs, and suspicion all rising. Letting out a low growl, she demanded, “How do you know all this? Did Noris take you into his confidence? Are you part of the inner circle now?”
At that moment, the tube car door opened onto a corridor in the community sector where Dallia stood waiting. Ixbeth stayed where she was, tasting sadness and refusing to let it affect her as the two females gazed into each other’s eyes.
“You’re still angry,” said Dallia, breaking the silence.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ixbeth hardened her voice. “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’m being treated like a stranger by members of my own community, including my family. I’ve been away from home for two years. If you’ve decided that means I’m no longer one of you, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. No more than you should be at how that makes me feel.”
She reached for the keypad.
“Wait!” Dallia cried, putting out a hand to stop the door from closing. “Come to our quarters in one hour and we’ll answer as many of your questions as we can.”
“No,” Ixbeth decided. “I’m tired of half-truths and omissions. I’ll get my own answers. And here’s a word of warning, Mother. You can trust him if you wish, but Noris isn’t just a name — it’s also the Kularian word for danger.”
Resignation. Dallia let her hand drop. Regret mixed with anger, planting a sour taste at the back of Ixbeth’s throat as the door closed between them.
“Do you know why members of the brotherhood wear purple robes?”
Ixbeth started at the sound of Gorse’s voice behind her. He’d muted his feelings so well that she’d forgotten he was there.
“It’s because they’re more than scholars,” he continued. “They’re defenders as well, doing whatever they must to protect and preserve our ancient knowledge. They’ve worked very hard for thousands of years to keep it alive and intact, and every Kularian, whether pure-blooded or hybrid, honors them for that. It’s something you might want to remember the next time you have words with your mother.”
Ixbeth watched in silence as the car door slid open again and he stepped past her into the corridor.