Chapter Eighteen

Riston

Terra-Sol date 3814.257

It took Riston an extraordinarily long time to realize ze wasn’t completely cut off from the ship. Ze couldn’t access any files or even the public library of stories and vids, but ze could ask the computer for the time and date.

“Terra-Sol date 3814.257,” the calm, neutral voice reported. “Time, 0125 hours.”

Only half a day had passed. It felt like ze’d been imprisoned twice as long. Ze wasn’t sure why; after three cycles on Novis, ze should be used to both confined spaces and forced idleness. This wasn’t simply endless inactivity, though. This was a constant cycle of anxiety, adrenaline, and numb boredom that wouldn’t let zem relax for long. Ze couldn’t decide which fate was more likely at this point, death or eternal incarceration, and somehow not knowing that made everything else worse. Ze’d tried to sleep, forcing zirself to move to the medbed farthest from where Shadow laid. Unconsciousness proved elusive, but ze stayed on the thinly padded bed even after ze gave up on sleep, soaking in the small measure of comfort. It didn’t help.

Near-silence had descended hours ago when the command crew withdrew from medical, leaving only a single nurse behind. Well, the nurse and the security guards posted at both entrances. Ze hadn’t seen them, but it was what ze would’ve done. The totality of the silence, though, meant Riston instantly noticed when it broke; even the faint shoosh of a door seemed as foreboding as the rumble of a distant explosion. Zir adrenaline spiked, but ze didn’t move, remaining seated on the bed with zir forehead pressed against zir knees. The height of the bed made it easier to covertly watch the main room. It was as empty as before, but not as silent. Ze heard footsteps and muffled conversation. Ze gripped zir legs tighter and held zir breath.

Someone was coming. It might be Erryla to ask more questions or Adrienn to prep Riston for a cryopod. With zir luck, though, Farran was about to use Riston for target practice.

The first guess had been half right. The captain was striding closer, but she wasn’t alone. Cira was only two steps behind.

Zir head snapped up and ze leaned in as electricity surged through zem, fear and relief and surprise clashing into a brutally potent force. Cira was here. No matter how badly ze wanted to stay still and hide zir reaction until ze could figure out what was happening, ze couldn’t. Ze scooted to the end of the bed and slowly put zir feet down, gaze never straying from her face. The floor was cold under zir bare feet, and zir legs protested the weight ze was asking them to bear after so long immobile. Ze had to use the bed to stay upright, and to stop zirself from lunging forward and pressing closer to the barrier.

Cira looked beautiful. There were bruises of exhaustion under her eyes, a stiffness to her movements, and too many wrinkles in her uniform, but she still looked beautiful.

And then she smiled. “Hi, Riston.”

Her fatigue was even clearer in her voice. Riston nodded in return. Ze wanted to say hello, but ze didn’t trust zir voice to work. Or that ze’d be able to stop talking if ze started now. The way Cira’s smile softened made zem think she understood.

“I told the command crew everything,” she said. “How I found you all, and how I snuck you onto the ship. How I decided who was allowed to stay.”

Riston almost closed his eyes as regret and guilt lanced through zem. I, she said. Not we. And Adrienn wasn’t here. Cira had sacrificed herself and taken the blame for it all. She was still protecting people, even now, and there was nothing ze could do to return the favor except help her turn herself into a martyr.

“I’m sorry, Cira.” Ze may not be able to say everything ze wanted to, but this ze couldn’t hold back. “I ruined everything, and I couldn’t—”

“No.” She held up her hand. “I wouldn’t have let you on this ship if you weren’t willing to put yourself at risk for others. How can I be mad at you for doing that now?”

Maybe. That was hard to believe, but blame wouldn’t solve anything. Ze bit back the words and dropped zir gaze, conceding for now. Stress, exhaustion, and hunger slowed and clouded zir mind, but this was possibly the most important conversation of zir life. Saying the right words and playing the right part weren’t simply important; they were crucial. So many lives depended on it. When ze took a breath and prepared to speak, there was something about the moment that felt like jumping out an air lock without a tether. “What do you need?”

“Tell the others to come in.” She glanced at her mother, but Erryla’s face was impassive and her gaze was fixed on Riston. Shoulders slumping, Cira pressed on. “Drop Protocol is being prepped, and if they’re not somewhere safe soon, they might get hurt.”

That, however, Riston wasn’t yet willing to do. “Unless you’ve replaced the protocol’s sedative with poison—a direct violation of both article four, section eight of the PSSC charter and article twelve, section two of the current treaty governing war crimes—they’ll be fine.”

The captain’s jaw clenched, and her dark eyes flashed. “Not necessarily.” Erryla’s voice when she spoke was even, but threat pulsed under her calm. “What if they’re climbing one of the junction ladders when the sedative is released? I’ve seen what a dead fall down an enclosed tunnel can do to a body. It isn’t pretty.”

“But that’s a chance, not a certainty.” Riston had rushed into zir last decision, desperation overruling reason. Ze didn’t want to do that again. Options weren’t exactly plentiful, however, and the captain was the only one with answers. “What happens if they come in?”

“Adrienn will prep them for cryostasis, and they’ll be handed over to the Governing Council when we arrive at Paxis.” The muscles in Erryla’s jaw jumped. “It’s the only way to ensure they make it to the station alive.”

She was right. Even if the crew hunted zir friends with weapons meant to incapacitate instead of kill, tensions were high. Anything could happen. They were in real danger here. Then again, they’d been in danger most of their lives. If there was a way to survive, they’d find it.

Which was why Riston took a sharp breath and dared to say, “No. I think it might be better for everyone if my friends took their chances with the gas.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “I already warned you not to test me. If you actively prevent me from protecting this ship, I will end you.”

“I am protecting this ship, Captain.” Ze kept zir tone level and zir gaze steady, trying to watch her reactions without staring her down. Her threat had been deadly serious, yet a strange sense of peace filled Riston. The quiet war ze’d been fighting for cycles, zirself against the universe, was coming to an end. Ze’d lost. It was okay. Part of zem had never left Ladadhi all those cycles ago. In a way, this punishment felt righteous. Ze hadn’t noticed the intruder, had put Cira and her family in danger, and had failed Shadow. Suffering Captain Antares’s punishment felt fitting. But before they tossed zem out the air lock or locked zem in a cryopod, maybe ze could do one more good thing. Maybe ze could save zir friends.

“You have a problem, but you’re not using the resources at your disposal,” Riston said when it seemed like Erryla was going to listen. “My friends know every centimeter of this ship. They’re brilliant, capable, desperately determined, and they’re your best chance of finding the saboteur and getting them off this ship.”

“Says the zeran who illegally hitched a ride?” Erryla’s face was still blank, but Riston thought ze heard furious indignation simmering in her tone.

“Says the zeran with nowhere else in the universe to call home, sir.” Despite the immense respect ze had for the captain, ze was starving, exhausted, scared, and so done with all of this. Heart pounding and hands shaking, ze waited, once again, for someone else’s decision to change zir life. Ze should be used to this. So many key moments in zir life had been completely out of zir control, and ze’d spent so many cycles terrified of everything. Apparently, there really was a point when terror, like pain, overloaded a body to the point of numbness. “If something happens to Novis, I lose everything and everyone I have. Again. I won’t let that happen if there’s something I can do to stop it.”

Cira gaped, her eyes bulging. The captain’s lips thinned into a tight, angry line. Her eyes, though… Was it Riston’s imagination or was she finally really looking at zem?

Please, ze wanted to beg. Give us a chance. We can help you. Let us prove it.

The moment stretched and strained. Locking zir hands behind zirself kept Riston from fidgeting, but it was harder to keep from shifting zir weight forward or to keep the silent pleas filling zir head from spilling out. If the captain didn’t respond soon, ze’d start begging.

Erryla’s lips parted. The ping of an inbound alert cut her off.

“Incoming priority-one message for you, Captain,” the computer announced.

“Display on terminal two.” Erryla crossed to the terminal to the right of the quarantine bay’s entrance. Naturally, her posture was straight and squared, but extra tension crept into her stance when she saw the message.

“S-sir? What is it?” Cira’s hesitance sounded as wrong as the too-formal “sir.”

Then Erryla spoke and everything got worse.

“No messages are being sent or received,” she reported in a calm, even tone belied only by the absolute rigidity of her posture. “Since just after 1800 yesterday, all message and reports have been sitting in a queue, waiting for access to the communications relays.”

Which meant, since moments after the attack on Shadow, they’d been cast adrift. Like Feris, Amitis, Dignis, Portis, Sanctis, and Credis, they were alone, vulnerable, and waiting for an attack that could come from anyone and anywhere.

“But… No, that’s not possible.” Cira rushed in and stared at the console. “You just got a response from Control! How—”

“A decoy, apparently.” Erryla’s gaze flicked across the screen, rapidly taking in whatever was displayed. “Someone has created a partition within the communications system and uploaded a program to mimic data from Paxis, including direct responses to our messages. Everything we’ve received since this program went live has been forged.”

Cira cursed, ran her hands over her silver hair, and turned sharply away. Riston wanted to curl up and sleep for a week, but ze held still by will alone. This could snap the tentative thread between zirself and Erryla that ze’d been fabricating, or it could spur her into grabbing that thread and trusting zem to help. Ze tried to prepare for both possibilities as the captain’s focus finally shifted back onto zem. Erryla walked closer slowly, her gaze as sharp as lasers. “Well, Riston, it’s certainly convenient my reports about the stowaways on my ship won’t reach Paxis.”

“It’d also be convenient for whoever’s actually responsible,” Cira snapped. She spun on her heel and toward quarantine. “I know you hate me right now, but you know me. I’d never let anyone onto this ship who might be a danger to this crew. They earned their place here, and they’ve fought to keep it every single day. The places they’ve lived are spots regular crew doesn’t even like visiting, and they’ve done it without complaint for cycles. None of them, not one, would hinder a single operation of this ship or harm anyone on its crew.”

“She’s right. And we can help you find the saboteur,” Riston added in a desperate rush. “Please, please, Captain, let us help. We need to make sure no one else dies.”

Erryla crossed her arms and stared. Next to her, Cira was so still it didn’t seem like she was breathing. Riston certainly wasn’t. Their entire future, and possibly the fate of the whole ship, hinged on the choice Captain Erryla Antares was about to make.

“Computer,” Erryla began. And then she stopped and rubbed her hand over her mouth. Only when the computer chimed—a reminder it was waiting on an order—did she drop her hand and finish. “Unlock computer access in quarantine, but mirror all displays on exterior consoles.”

The orders continued to flow, each one adding a restriction or caveat that allowed Erryla to watch every turn ze took inside her system. Riston didn’t care. Heart pounding, ze rushed to the closest console and logged in.

Haste made zem careless; ze had to repeat commands and passcodes more than once. Slow down, ze ordered. Zir hands and mouth had a hard time obeying. When zir focus went back to the screen, zir motions and mind sped up. Finally, despite mistakes and wrong turns, ze found the end of the labyrinthine path ze needed to navigate to find the tiny partition Cira had carved out of Novis’s systems for zem. There was only a small pang of regret as ze entered the final passcodes—with Erryla watching zir every command and gesture—and entered the familiar cluster of files and programs. This space wouldn’t exist much longer. Erryla would shut it down as soon as she got what they needed out of it.

Riston was okay with that. This was a loss well worth suffering.