Bright Shards (The Vardeshi Saga Book 2)

by Meg Pechenick

  “Six months.”

  I sighed. “I should have known. ‘Dice at the Institute are as common as dust on Arideth,’ right?”

  He laughed. “Have you ever been to Arideth?”

  “No, but I hear it’s pretty dusty.”

  “So they say. I wouldn't know. I’ve never been there either.”

  I took a swig of my now unpleasantly warm beer. “Where are you headed?”

  “Khivrik. It’s one of the outlying planets. We’re transporting personnel and medical supplies. Not quite as dramatic as your mission.”

  “Maybe not, but at least nobody’s blowing holes in your ship.”

  “Not yet, anyway.” He checked his flexscreen. “Well, I’m off. If I stay any longer I’ll miss my launch.” He stood up and jingled the coins in his hand.

  Zey, who had been leaning against the wall looking on for the last couple of rounds, said hopefully, “Looking to offload those coins before you go?”

  The young officer laughed. “Are you kidding? I won these off Novi Alkhat. I’m keeping them.” He flashed his sigil at me in farewell, a sort of inverse wave. “Thanks for the company.”

  When he had disappeared through the doorway, Zey said, “He liked you.”

  “Only because I’m famous. You heard what he said. He’ll probably be drinking on this story for the next month.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “He liked you.”

  I gave him a skeptical look. “How could you even tell? What are the signs?”

  “Did you notice his sigil?”

  “I noticed that he only had the ink one. He’s not engaged. Or married.”

  “Right. Did you see how quickly he dropped his hand when he said goodbye? That was a compliment. As a member of an unranked family, you should have been the first one to lower your hand.”

  “But I didn’t even raise my hand. He didn’t give me any time.”

  Zey nodded. “Exactly. I’m engaged, so if I saluted you like that, it would be a show of respect. But since he’s unattached, it means something different. He was telling you he liked you.”

  Sohra came over with a brimming glass of beer. Glancing at the empty table in front of me, she said, “Eyvri, how did you lose all those coins I gave you in the time it took me to get one drink?”

  “She’s terrible at dice, but she’s a winner in the game of love,” Zey said, mimicking the quick farewell salute.

  “Really?” Sohra said eagerly. “Who was he?”

  I groaned. “Oh, by the nineteen ancient sigils. Don’t encourage him.”

  Zey laughed. “You don’t even know what the nineteen ancient sigils are.”

  “I know some of them,” I said defensively.

  “Prove it. You looked at his hand. Which one was he?”

  “I . . .” I tried and failed to picture the design. “I have no idea.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Zey said smugly.

  “Which one?” Sohra prompted.

  “Kasrash.”

  Sohra’s eyes widened. “An unattached Kasrash? That’s quite a conquest, Eyvri. Kasrash is ranked second-highest. Just under Vadra.”

  I waved a careless hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get my matchmaker on the phone. In the meantime, what’s next?”

  The only discordant note in the evening occurred toward the end. We were sitting in various stages of intoxication in our third or fourth artfully run-down bar. Zey, too far gone on cheap whiskey for the gaming tables now, was absorbed in stacking his winnings in a perfectly aligned column. Kylie was equally engrossed in knocking it over. Sohra and I were playing a memory game with Kylie’s deck of cards, mostly to keep ourselves awake. I was vaguely aware that the bar was emptying out around us. A dark-haired man in nondescript civilian clothing went by our table on his way to the door. I looked up from my cards, thinking he was passing a little closer to Zey’s stool than necessary, in time to hear him mutter something containing the words “Vekesh House.” By the time I fully turned my head to look at him, I had to peer through a virtual thicket of Vardeshi. Only two of them wore the black and red uniforms of starhaven security. It seemed that half the occupants of the room—including the woman with the shimmering teal bob who only an instant ago I had seen knock half a glass of beer into her companion’s lap—were members of some kind of undercover protection detail. I caught only a fleeting second glimpse of the man who had spoken before he was forcibly but silently dragged out through the door. I turned to where Zey was sitting, or had been sitting. Both he and Sohra were on their feet. “What did he say?”

  Zey repeated the sentence in an undertone. He sounded, and looked, considerably less drunk than I’d thought he was.

  “‘Vekesh House will be avenged,’” I repeated. My voice shook a little.

  Sohra put a comforting hand on my arm. “It doesn’t mean anything. He was just trying to scare you.”

  “It worked.”

  Zey swept his bar coins into a pile and pocketed them. “Sohra’s right. It was just talk. No one likes Vekesh House enough to avenge it. Let’s go.”

  We went. Most of our security detail went with us, all attempt at pretense abandoned. The teal-haired woman fell into step with me and introduced herself as Officer Jaiya Deyn, head of my personal security. “Let me guess,” I said half-jokingly, “you’re going to tell me I can’t go back to Downhelix again.”

  “Not tonight,” she said. “And not alone. Beyond that, we’ll have to see.”

  Officer Nerev, evidently summoned from wherever she spent her off-duty hours, joined us at a corridor junction. She and Officer Deyn dropped back to walk together just behind Kylie and me, discussing the incident—or so I assumed—in voices pitched too low for me to overhear. We walked through hallways that were otherwise deserted, either because it was so late or because they were being deliberately cleared in advance of our passage, I wasn’t sure which. Zey and Sohra were quartered with the rest of the crew on the helix below ours. When they diverged from our route, I was glad to see two of the security officers peel off to accompany them.

  “It’s all right, Eyvri,” Sohra said reassuringly before they left. “You’re safe here. You’re protected. Try to forget about it.”

  Kylie and I waited in the corridor while our combined security teams did a thorough sweep of her rooms. When they emerged, one of them nodded to Officer Deyn, who had been among those standing guard in the hallway. “Your protective detail will be doubled while we investigate the man from the bar,” she told me. “We’ll inform you as soon as we know anything concrete. For now, try not to let the incident alarm you. Your friend was right. You’re not on the Pinion anymore. You’re in safe hands.”

  Once inside Kylie’s rooms, I went around and methodically turned on every light I could find. Kylie watched for a while, then went into the galley. I climbed the narrow stairs to my bedroom, changed into pajamas, and went into the sanitation room to wash my face. When I came out again, Kylie was curled up on my bed beside a tray that held two cups of tea. I sat down on the other end of the bed and pulled a blanket over myself.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not one of them. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

  I said again, “I’m fine.” When she didn’t reply, I added, “I just . . . I thought it was over.”

  She looked at me steadily until I lifted my eyes to meet hers. I had never seen her face so serious. “Did you really think that?” she asked.

  “Okay, I hoped it was over, is that better?”

  “It’s easier to believe.” Kylie cradled her tea in her hands, but didn’t drink it. “Your khavi is gone. That part is over. But he was just one man. The movement that put him on your ship and a gun in his hand is still out there. And it’s not just the Vardeshi—there are anti-alliance movements on Earth too. And ours are likely to be a lot bigger and a lot uglier than theirs. At least most of them claim to have renounced violence. How many people on Earth can say the same? For e
very human and every Vardeshi working for the alliance, there’s probably someone on the other side working against it. We can’t change that. We just have to make sure we do our jobs better than they do theirs.”

  I nodded.

  Kylie shifted the tea tray to her other side, slid closer to me, and put her arm around my shoulders. “I meant what I said before. You’re tough. You had to be, to get this far. But don’t lie to yourself. It won’t get any easier from here. So if you’re serious about going on, you’ll have to get tougher. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”

  “I know,” I whispered. She tightened her arm around me. I rested my head on her shoulder and pulled the soft gray blanket up over both of us. We sat like that, nestled together like animals, without speaking for a very long time.

  * * *

  I slept uneasily that night. My follow-up appointment with the doctor was scheduled for early evening of the next day. I passed the afternoon hours scrolling through Kylie’s music and movies, downloading my selections onto her spare laptop and phone, and organizing them into playlists. The task was comforting, but it was also avoidance of a kind. Kylie kept me company until midafternoon, then went to have a prowl through the Atrium. When she asked me to join her, I demurred. “I’m a little tired. Tomorrow?”

  Disappointment and compassion mingled in her face as she said, “Sure. Tomorrow’s fine.”

  Officer Deyn escorted me to my appointment with the doctor, who examined my forearm closely, took several photographs on her flexscreen, and finally declared me free to sample the dozen or so foods and beverages on the approved list. “Use common sense,” she instructed. “Don't try anything in large quantities or when you’re alone, and make sure you have your allergy medication at hand at all times. What are you going try first?”

  “Senek,” I said without hesitation.

  Just before leaving Kylie’s quarters, I had received a message from Saresh inviting me to stop by the medical wing for a visit that evening. The time he’d proposed coincided with the hour of the evening senek ritual, which had given me an idea. I texted Zey to ask whether Saresh had any favorites among the Atrium’s senek shops. He directed me to Stall 27, the Golden Leaf. I made my way there amid the crush of Vardeshi seeking an infusion of their preferred beverage. The line at Stall 27 was especially long, and my presence in it drew considerable interest—although it was difficult to tell whether people were looking at me or at Officer Deyn, who stood, defiantly blue-haired and in the strappiest of strappy tops, just behind me in line. I realized I was glad she was there.

  To my relief, the shop’s proprietor accepted both my appearance and my request without blinking, although he examined my thermos with interest before pouring in the steaming liquid. My crewmates on the Pinion had reacted in the same way to the turquoise enamel. I asked about disposable cups and was told that the Vardeshi didn’t manufacture them, but that the simple glass cups used here were standard throughout the Atrium and could be returned to any establishment or deposited at an exit. I stacked two cups together and placed the sugar pellets carefully in the top one. I knew Saresh’s preference without having to think about it; brewing the morning and evening senek was one of the novi duties Zey and I shared. As I turned to make my way out of the Atrium, I wondered how many of the people standing near us in line had been members of my security detail. I hadn’t recognized any of them from last night.

  We were met outside Saresh’s room by a young man in a starhaven security uniform who spoke a code word to Officer Deyn, presumably giving the all-clear, since she waved me toward the door at once. I found Saresh sitting up in bed, looking alert and rested, though the blue undertones in his skin were more prominent than usual. Hathan was sitting on a stool beside the bed. He was still in uniform, having presumably come straight from a debriefing session. Both of them looked up in surprise when I entered; I had clearly interrupted a conversation. “I can come back,” I said quickly, hoping they would ask me to stay.

  “What’s in the flask?” Hathan asked.

  “Senek.” I raised the thermos hopefully. “It’s from the Golden Leaf.”

  Saresh smiled. “Oh, well, in that case, join us.”

  “You brought two cups,” Hathan noted as I pulled over another stool and placed my offerings on the table next to the bed. “But you weren’t expecting me. Who’s the second one for?”

  “For me.” I displayed my unmarked forearm. “I passed my allergy screen.”

  “Have you tried it yet?”

  “First time.”

  I tipped the sugar pellets out onto the bedside table and placed the two glass cups side by side. Then I unscrewed the cap of my thermos and set it with the other cups. Out of long habit, I pushed the thermos toward Hathan. He pushed it back toward me.

  “Never mind the formalities. This is a historic occasion. Help yourself.” His tone was light, his posture relaxed, but he had been tapping one foot restlessly on the floor since I arrived. Remembering that senek served a physiological as well as a cultural function, I filled my own cup and tried again to pass him the thermos. This time he took it.

  As he poured, I looked at the sugar pellets in chagrin. “I didn’t bring any sugar for you.”

  “This is good enough to drink straight,” he assured me. He drained his own cup at once. I imagined I could see him relaxing as the calming effect took hold.

  As he leaned over to serve his brother, Saresh said, “Only half for me. Any more and I’ll fall asleep.”

  “You’re in recovery,” Hathan pointed out. “You should sleep.” But he stopped pouring. Saresh took the cup, breathed in the steam appreciatively, and drank. Hathan nodded to me. “All right, Avery. It’s your turn.”

  I looked dubiously at the sugar pellets. Saresh said, “Hathan was right. This is better than anything on the Pinion. You should try it on its own first.”

  I lifted my cup and took a tentative sip. The liquid was still steaming hot, which was how it was properly served, as I well knew. My first impression was of almost medicinal bitterness. That faded quickly, replaced by a mild nutty flavor like that of hazelnuts. The lingering aftertaste was faintly sweet, like anise. As I sat there, cup still in hand, trying to place the mingled flavors, I felt suffused with a deep tranquility. The drink had an effect akin to that of liquor, only it was a tingling coolness, rather than warmth, that radiated through my body. Until that instant, I hadn’t known how tense I was. I sighed. “Wow. That’s amazing. I see why you guys like it.”

  “How does it make you feel?” Hathan asked.

  “Relaxed.” I drank again.

  “It’s working, then.”

  “No, I mean really relaxed. I think . . . Let’s just say I won’t be drinking it at morning briefing.”

  Saresh laughed. “You mean it’s intoxicating?”

  “It would be, if I drank any more of it.” I put my cup down carefully on the table. “So how was the surgery?”

  “Perfectly routine. I’ll be here another night, and I’ll wear a brace for a few days, but I should be able to walk out of here on my own tomorrow morning.” There was a blanket covering his legs, and as he spoke, he pulled it up to his left knee, exposing his lower leg. The skin was perfectly smooth save for a vertical white seam as narrow as a pencil line and about three inches long.

  “That’s it?” I said in disbelief.

  “That’s it. In a few months, you won’t even be able to find the scar.”

  “That’s incredible. Your medical tech is so far beyond ours.”

  “Our surgeons consider scars to be . . . messy. Inelegant.”

  “They’re right.” Even as I said the words, I felt a hollowness inside. Something that was shared had been lost. I had been wrong to think Saresh and I had both been permanently marked by Vekesh. In the end, it had only been me. I looked down at the right sleeve of my sweater, thinking of the scar it concealed: messy, inelegant, ineradicable. My eyes moved to the crescent of new skin between my thumb and forefinger, souvenir of an ina
ttentive moment in the galley during the long days of my estrangement on the Pinion. The Vardeshi might not have to wear the traces of their accidents and errors on their bodies, but humans still did. It was just one more way in which we were inferior to them.

  Saresh said gently, “Even our tech is no match for the second scar.”

  “The second scar?”

  He touched two fingers to his temple. “Here.”

  And just like that, I knew the bond was still there, and that he felt it as strongly as I did. We had shared memories. More than that, we had traded them. Nothing could take that away from us. If the Echelon saw fit to assign us to different ships, though, I might lose his presence, his sensitivity and kindness, out of my life forever. The thought made me want to weep—or scream. To preempt either impulse, I took another long drink of senek. The calm that instantly washed over me pushed the despair back a little. I got up from my stool and went over to look out through the viewport. One wall of Saresh’s room appeared to be a floor-to-ceiling portal looking onto the Arboretum from above. I looked down at the winding paths and the intermingled gray and blue and red foliage, which stirred gently in a breeze I couldn’t feel. Then I looked back at the door through which I’d entered. My sense of direction on the starhaven was still imperfect, but I was fairly certain that the Arboretum was several levels above us. I turned back toward the others. “Is this a window?”

  “It’s a projection,” Hathan answered. “It can be adjusted to show different views of the starhaven.” He pressed a control on the bedside table. The view changed to an exterior view of Arkhati, taken from a nearby satellite, perhaps. At another touch of the control, the vista changed again to a scene from the Atrium. He cycled through a few more images, including one that had to be of hydroponics, then returned to the view of the Arboretum.

  “There’s no view of Downhelix,” I noted.