“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, w
ould 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.
Excerpt from personal correspondence
From: Lashawn Lucas, Assistant Director of Resource Management for Shadhima Humanitarian Enterprises
To: Dr. Padraigin Ó Catháin, President of Ladadhi General Hospital
Subject: Indictments and Exculpation
Terra-Sol date 3798.009
Do you remember the ancient culture and mythology class we took on a lark? The story of Prometheus has stuck with me even all these decades later. What might humanity have been without his gifts? Fire has destroyed humanity as much as it’s saved us.
We have become our own Prometheus, and the Pax fleet is our new fire. Its creation was supposed to be a gift to humanity and a way toward peace, but instead it has become a weapon we wield against ourselves, against the weakest of us. This war would’ve ended a century ago—if not before then—without the resources Pax ships carry from one system to another. Those ships were intended to bring food to the starving and medical supplies to the dying, and instead they’ve been another way for the people who already have everything they need to exert their will on everyone else. Without the PCCS, the balance of power would’ve changed, of course, but the war wouldn’t continue to take lives in such numbers. Maybe neither of us would’ve lost our children so young.
We need another Prometheus to come bearing gifts, or maybe we need Zeus to come and blast us back to our caves. I honestly can’t tell anymore. I think we’d find a way to ruin ourselves no matter what happened. It’s what we’ve done since the beginning, when homo sapiens slowly wiped out all our distant relatives. Even then, we didn’t play well with others. It clearly hasn’t gotten any better. Maybe all we really need is to be sent to our separate corners of the galaxy to sit in time-out for a while. A long while. Maybe a century or so.
I know you, and I’m sure you’re getting more frustrated with me the longer this message rambles on, but these are the thoughts that have been plaguing me since the anniversary of my little girl’s death. It’s been twenty cycles as of last month, if you can believe that. I feel the same depression that nearly consumed me back then nipping at my heels, and I need a project or a mission to keep myself from descending into those depths. I need to do something to push back against the destructive path I see the quadrant following or I’m going to fall into my own black hole. Ideas, though, were always more your purview than mine. Help me. Please. There must be something we can do, something that everyone thinking along the same lines as us can do.
Chapter Nineteen
Riston
Terra-Sol date 3814.257
Byte by byte, Riston relinquished the illusion of privacy, digital though it may have been, that Cira’s partition and Tinker’s hidden network had allowed. Ze had journals, records from training simulations, logs from the coursework ze’d been slowly completing, and notes from all the stowaways who’d used Pax Novis as a gateway to a new life. It’d always been a risk to keep so much, even within the partition’s relative safety, yet ze’d never been able to get rid of it. It was a chronicle of zir existence, and if anything had happened to Riston, it might’ve ended up being some of the only proof ze’d ever lived at all.
Now, that proof was being absorbed by Erryla and passed on to who knew how many others. It’d probably be dissected by computer algorithms and human security officers. Some would probably be used as evidence against zem if ze ever stood trial on Paxis, yet here ze was, watching it get copied, uploaded, and backed up. Willingly.
Then ze found the flood of messages from Tinker.
Sent 3814.256, 1801: The ship is in super lockdown and you’re not here. What happened to Shadow? Where are you?
Sent 3814.256, 2055: Where are you? It’s been hours.
Sent 3814.256, 2130: We had to move. People are searching the ship with sensor sweeps and guns. Guns. What in the name of every habitable planet in the quadrant happened? Where are you? We’re worried. Please answer.
Sent 3814.256, 2212: Don’t be mad, but I’ve been monitoring the ship’s general communications. There aren’t any.
Sent 3814.256, 2249: Have they finally figured out they’ve got a saboteur on board? Is that why you and Shadow are hiding?
Sent 3814.257, 0137: There’s a drain on the power system that wasn’t there before. We’re going to check this out. I think it’s important.
Sent 3814.257, 0211: I found something. I don’t know what it is, but Captain Antares needs to know it’s here. If we don’t hear from you in an hour, we’re going to turn ourselves in. I know you were trying to protect us by keeping us hidden, but this is too important. Unless you give us a better idea, we’re going to walk onto the main deck in an hour and take our chances. We don’t know what else to do, Zazi. Where are you?
Riston nearly replied but stopped before zir finger touched the screen. Zir chest tightened. If ze responded, ze’d have to tell them what happened to Shadow. How, though, could ze say that in a message? Then again, how could ze justify keeping it from them now?
“Ask for specifics on what they found.” Erryla’s order wasn’t as sharp as earlier. Riston glanced at her, wondering what had changed, but she was staring steadfastly at the screen. “I need to know what and where. Precisely. I’ll have a team verify and then…” She planted her fists on the console and closed her eyes. “Then I’ll decide what the next step will be.”
“I need to go with your team,” ze said. The captain raised one eyebrow, her expression full of disbelief, and Riston rushed on. “We’ve been living in the maintenance shafts, and I know them better than your crew. I’ll know what’s out of place. Plus, if I’m there, it’ll be easier to convince my friends to come in.” When she still didn’t look convinced, ze offered one more submission. “Put me in chemical restraints. It’s fine. But I have to go with the team.”
It might be my only chance to tell them what happened to Shadow without it being recorded and used against me, he thought. And it might be my only chance to say goodbye.
“I’d like to go, too,” Cira said, implacable as gravity. “I can be there to smooth any…problems.”
“Problems.” The word fell from Erryla’s tongue and smashed on the ground between them.
Riston held zir breath. Even if the captain accepted what they’d said as truth, she didn’t have to let Cira and Riston go anywhere together.
Ze still wasn’t sure what Cira could possibly have said to be let into medical in the first place.
To zir surprise, Erryla nodded once, sharply, and said, “Fine. Full chemical restraints and a position monitor on Riston, plus a team to go with you—security, command, and engineering. Ensign, Commander Liddens will oversee this expedition of yours, and I expect you to instantly obey any order he gives you.”
“Yes. Of course,” Cira quickly agreed.
Erryla’s eyebrow twitched, then she looked to Riston. Zir pulse rate jumped. It felt like the air was vibrating in zir lungs. “Anything.”
Ze would do anything to keep his friends, this crew, and Cira—the savior who gave zem the stars for the past three cycles—alive.
Although the chronometer claimed only five minutes had gone by, impatience and fear had made each minute stretch into an hour in Riston’s mind. Ze’d sent a message to Tinker and the others, explaining some of what’d happened, but her reply had been brief. Okay, she’d said. Nothing about this situation was okay, and Cira pacing outside zir cell didn’t make it better.
It wasn’t as if ze’d ever tell her that, though.
Finally, a door elsewhere in medical opened, and new voices drifted in. Riston stopped watching the clock, Cira stopped pacing as ze and Erryla stepped away from the console. Just as Riston cautiously approached the force shield, the rest of the command crew came into view.
Halver Liddens walked in like a soldier, nodding stiffly to Cira as he marched past her on his way toward the captain. Farran didn’t look at Cira at all, but Meida paused long enough to look in Cira’s eyes and touch her shoulder before continuing on. Only Adrienn stopped entirely, watching the others approach the captain yet keeping zirself by Cira’s side. Purposeful gesture or unconscious choice, Riston wondered? Ze hoped it was the former. There wasn’t much Riston could do to help her—ze’d likely only make things worse. She’d need people inside the PSSC on her side when Novis reached Paxis Station.
Pax Novis Page 23
