“Oh my God,” I said. My voice caught on something that might have been a laugh. I dropped Saresh’s hands and half shifted, half fell backward into a sitting position, bringing my hands up to my mouth. I wasn’t crying, although I probably looked like I was. I was hiding my face from them—from him. I needed time to think, but I didn’t have that. I had only a few precious seconds in which to adjust my expression into something more properly resembling the defiant pride of the falsely accused than the numb bewilderment I actually felt.
“Eyvri,” Saresh said. “I’m sorry.”
The pronunciation wasn’t lost on me. Hathan, at the doorway, heard it too. “What happened?” he snapped.
“Do I have your permission to share what I learned about the sabotage?” Saresh asked.
Dazedly I nodded.
“It’s done,” he said. “It worked. Eyvri is innocent.”
“What?” The word was a whipcrack.
“She’s innocent,” Saresh repeated. He helped me to my feet, then turned toward the door and faced his brother squarely. I wondered fleetingly if he did so on purpose to block me from Hathan’s sight. There was silence while they stared at each other. I had a sense that the moment—the ship, my life, everything—was poised on a fulcrum. I waited to see which direction it would tilt. I could do nothing else.
Finally Hathan said, “You’re certain?”
Saresh nodded.
I couldn’t bear to look at either of them. I stared down at the floor, crossing my arms against a sudden chill. At last Hathan said, “An innocent human equals a guilty Vardeshi. We’ve trusted someone we shouldn’t have.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. He knew. Whatever else happened, he knew now that he’d been wrong about me.
Saresh said, “We need to tell Vekesh.”
“What?” I said sharply. “No! What if it’s him?”
Both of them looked at me incredulously. Saresh spoke first. “Eyvri, I know you may have had some . . . difficult exchanges with the khavi, but he needs to know this information.”
“You said it yourself,” I insisted. “Somewhere on this ship is a guilty Vardeshi. How do you know it’s not him?”
Hathan answered. “That’s impossible. I’ve known Reyjai Vekesh since the Institute. He’s an honorable man. He would never endanger this ship or its crew. If you can set aside your personal grudge against him even for a moment, you’ll see that. It’s unthinkable.”
“Is it? Yesterday you would have said that a Vardeshi trying to destroy the Pinion was unthinkable. I may have a grudge, but you guys have some pretty serious blind spots too.” I looked imploringly at Saresh. “If you guys had listened to me two weeks ago, you might have been able to stop the explosion. Now you’re just going to ignore me all over again? Even after what we just went through? What’s it going to take for you to start paying attention?”
“You have our attention,” Saresh assured me. “But Hathan is right. Khavi Vekesh needs to hear this immediately. If we keep the truth from him—or worse, take any action without informing him—we could be charged with mutiny. It would destroy our careers. Neither of us would ever get another post in the Fleet with a mutiny charge against our names. I know this is hard for you to understand.”
“It’s not—” I pressed the heels of my hands hard against my forehead. “I understand it. I just don’t care. You need to stop thinking about your careers and start thinking about your lives. And my life. For God’s sake, someone just blew a hole in the cargo hold! And unless you can prove to me right now that Vekesh isn’t the one who planted the bomb, then there’s a chance that he could be. Forget his rank. Right now we can’t trust anyone. Not even him.”
“I’m afraid we have no choice,” Saresh said. His tone was gentle but firm. “We trained for this scenario at the Institute. Fleet policy is unequivocal: in the case of presumed sabotage, the commander has to be informed. Whatever else we do, we need to tell the khavi. Now.”
“But it could be him,” I said miserably.
The look they exchanged was eloquent. I knew further arguing would be fruitless. I lifted my hands in a gesture of concession. “Fine. Fine. Tell him. But I think we should tell someone else too. What about Zey? Where is he?”
“The last time I saw him, he was in the medical clinic with Daskar.” Hathan glanced at his brother for confirmation. Saresh nodded.
I sighed. “I wish the comm network were operational. This would be so much easier if we had our flexscreens.”
“We’re still hours away from fully restoring the system,” Saresh said. “But I might be able to program two flexscreens to send each other a signal. Not text or voice, just a pulse. Something that would function as a primitive distress call.”
Hathan nodded. “That would allow us to separate. How long would the modification take?”
“Twenty minutes?” Saresh hazarded.
“Good enough,” Hathan said. “Let’s go.”
I followed them out of the storage closet and through the maze of minor passages to secondary systems. The two of them seated themselves at a table, took out their flexscreens, and went to work. I paced up and down an empty stretch of floor. The roiling of my thoughts was rapidly approaching incoherence. I couldn’t even take comfort in the fact that my cognitive faculties appeared to be intact, and, better yet, that the Listening had been successful. My newfound awareness of Hathan blazed in my mind like a brilliant light, driving all other thoughts away like shadows. I couldn’t think about anything but him. And I knew that Saresh, sitting quietly opposite his brother, apparently absorbed in his work, had to know that that was the case.
I willed myself to focus on the present. I had cleared my name with the suvi and the hadazi, but we were still in danger. How were we going to find the criminal? Where would he have gone after the explosion? Where would I go in his place? I realized that I already knew the answer to that question. Anyone with something to conceal would go after the person who posed the greatest threat to his continued anonymity. He would come after me.
I heard Saresh say, “I think that’s it. Go out into the hallway and I’ll signal you. If you hear anything, send back a response.” Hathan stood up, flexscreen in hand. I swallowed a protest; I didn’t want him to leave. After the door closed behind him, I drifted over to stand next to the table, staring down at the tiny screen. Its surface was dark; it looked like it had been powered down. Saresh said, “Go ahead. Push down on the screen.”
I pressed down firmly in the center of the little rectangle. There was a delay that strained my nerves before an answering pulse caused the little device to rattle loudly against the table. Saresh looked startled. Despite the urgency of our circumstances, I found myself smiling. It sounded exactly like a smartphone on its vibrate setting.
“It works,” Saresh said when Hathan had rejoined us. “I don’t know what the range will be. We should try to stay within the same helix.”
“The khavi and Zey should both be on helix three. Zey was in the clinic an hour ago; Vekesh was in the axis chamber. I’ll go after Zey. We’ll meet in the axis chamber.” Again I had to press my lips together to stifle a protest. Of course we had to split up. It was more efficient than traveling together. And of course I had to go with Saresh. As the Vox, he held in his mind the only certain proof of my innocence. Hathan waited for his brother’s nod of assent and then slipped out the door without another word. When he had gone, Saresh picked up his flexscreen from the table. “I think this rightly goes to you.” He handed it to me.
I took it hesitantly. “Are you sure?”
“Completely. I trust you. After everything that’s happened, I’m starting to think your instincts may be sounder than mine.”
I closed my fingers around the tiny screen and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket. Saresh led the way to helix three via the primary corridors. My heart thudded in my chest every time we approached a turn or a junction. Outside of one of the engineering chambers we encountered Khiva
. She looked at me curiously. “What—”
Saresh cut her off. “Where’s the khavi?” The words were clipped.
“Helix three or four, I think. He said something about checking rooms. Seeing if anyone was injured.” I could feel her eyes on us as we walked on, but she didn’t call after us.
The axis chamber was deserted. “Helix four, then,” Saresh said.
I clutched the device in my pocket as if it were a talisman. “But what about the flexscreen? Will it still work?”
“We’ll have to hope so.”
There was something troubling about what Khiva had said, but I couldn’t quite place it. Too much had happened in the last hour. Shock and fatigue were beginning to overtake me. Perhaps the Listening had taken a toll as well; I was struggling to think clearly. I tried to keep pace with Saresh as we entered helix four. It wasn’t until we had already reached the residential corridor and were approaching the solitary figure standing at its far end that I realized what was troubling me. Checking rooms. That was what Khiva had said. And that was exactly what Vekesh had been doing. The door he was standing in front of was mine.
At the sound of our footsteps he swung around to face us, and any words I might have been about to say to Saresh died in my throat. My eyes went at once to his right hand and the long cold gleam of metal there. Impossibly, he was holding a gun. An Earth weapon. I stood as if frozen. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. At the sight of the gun, everything seemed to stop. As I stood there, riveted to the spot by horror, I heard the faintest of whispers in my mind. I trust you, it said. It sounded like Saresh’s voice. The words unlocked some tiny part of me. I was able to move again; only a finger, but that was all I needed. I shifted my right thumb, hidden in the pocket of my jacket, and began pressing it over and over against the modified flexscreen.
“Hadazi,” Vekesh said coolly. “I see you’ve located our fugitive. Well done.”
I couldn’t take my eyes away from the gun. I had no idea if Saresh recognized the danger it posed. How much did the Vardeshi know about human weaponry?
When Saresh spoke, he matched Vekesh’s tone so perfectly I couldn’t tell whether he had the slightest concept of what he was looking at. If he knew Vekesh was holding a weapon, he didn’t comment on it. “Khavi, it appears we’ve been deceived. Avery is innocent. She’s not responsible for the detonation in the cargo hold.”
“Ah,” Vekesh said. “How do you know?”
“I’ve seen it.” The words were simple, but carried infinite conviction.
Vekesh raised an eyebrow. “A Listening?”
Saresh nodded.
“With a human? You’ve never struck me as a man who takes foolish risks.”
“The circumstances were compelling,” Saresh replied. “And the risk was justified. Avery was falsely accused.”
“How can you be confident of anything you read in an alien’s mind?”
I had wondered the same thing, but if the question gave Saresh pause, he showed no sign of it. “Our minds aren’t so different. The memories were perfectly clear. She’s not at fault.”
“Unfortunately there’s no way to be sure,” Vekesh said. “And if she’s innocent, how do you explain the projectile weapon I just found in her quarters?” He glanced at me. “This is a weapon, yes?”
I gave a single jerky nod. There was a coldness in his eyes at odds with the light curiosity in his tone. Hidden in my pocket, the flexscreen buzzed once against my fingertips. I closed my hand around it in sudden panic. Exactly how good was Vardeshi hearing? Was it possible that Vekesh had heard the noise, muffled though it was by layers of fabric?
Saresh spoke, drawing the khavi’s gaze back to him. “Obviously it was placed there by the same person who hid the signal disruptors among her things.”
“Obviously,” Vekesh murmured. “You make a convincing case, Saresh. But the Echelon will require absolute certainty. Avery isn’t Vardeshi. Your authority as a Vox won’t stand against the possibility of error.”
“It won’t have to,” Saresh said. “There will be other Voxes on Arkhati who can verify what I’ve seen. And there are other human representatives only a few weeks behind us on their way to the starhaven. It shouldn’t be difficult to establish the accuracy of human-Vardeshi telepathic contact. Once that’s done, Avery’s innocence will be beyond question.”
“That may be true,” Vekesh said. “For now, we need to be cautious. I won’t stake the safety of my ship on the integrity of a human’s mind. Tell the crew to assemble in the axis chamber. We’ll begin individual questioning as soon as possible. I’ll escort Avery back to her quarters. As a precautionary measure,” he added to me. “If Saresh is right, your knowledge of the truth makes you an obvious target for the real saboteur.” He gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun. “Come with me. I’ll see that you’re out of harm’s way.”
“No,” I whispered. The constriction in my throat made speaking at a normal volume impossible.
Saresh heard me; in my peripheral vision I saw his head turn slightly. “With respect, Khavi, I’d prefer to stay with Avery.”
“That’s not necessary. You’ve done enough. Now I need you to gather the crew.”
“I’d like to stay.”
Vekesh’s gaze sharpened. “I gave you an order, Hadazi.”
“And I intend to follow it. But let me take Avery to the medical clinic first. I’m sure Daskar will want to examine her for aftereffects of the Listening.”
The strain in the khavi’s voice came through clearly in his next words. “The ship has sustained catastrophic damage. I could have you charged with mutiny for the time you’ve already wasted. Don’t try my patience, Saresh.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Avery.” Saresh stepped in front of me. In the same moment, Vekesh raised the gun and leveled it at him with a hand that was perfectly steady.
“Step aside,” he commanded.
“No.”
When Vekesh spoke again, I was surprised to hear weariness in his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“There’s no need to hurt anyone,” Saresh said.
“Yes, there is,” Vekesh snapped. “Can’t you see that? Can the Takheris really be that blind? This alliance can’t be allowed to happen. The Vardeshi people have better things to do with their time and resources and technology than waste them on this race of . . . animals.”
“Reyjai.” It was Hathan. At the sound of his voice something twisted painfully inside me, half terror, half relief. I hadn’t heard him arrive, and I saw by the startled flick of the khavi’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed his approach either. I took my eyes off the barrel of the gun for the briefest of instants to look at him. He was alone. Where was Zey? I wondered. Hathan came forward until he stood level with me, a pace to my left, and stopped. “Even if you’re right—even if there are more of us against the alliance than for it—this is insanity. This is killing in cold blood. I know you’re not capable of that.”
“Shut up, Takheri. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” There was an edge to Vekesh’s voice. He was close to hysteria, I thought. Close to losing control.
Saresh spoke up. “Even if you don’t care about Avery’s life, think of your own. If you do this, you’ll be finished. And Vekesh House will never recover from the shame.”
The khavi started to laugh. “Vekesh House,” he repeated. “Vekesh House is on the brink of ruin. We have no money, no land, no power. Nothing. Of course you Takheris don’t know that. You’re too busy planning your grand alliance with the humans to pay attention to what’s happening on your own world. It may surprise you to know that there are Houses that will pay very, very well to see that alliance crushed. I can make Vekesh House greater than it’s ever been. And all I have to do is pull this trigger.”
“Reyjai,” Hathan said again. “Don’t do this.”
Vekesh shook his head. “I have no choice,” he said, and his voice broke on the last word. There was a blur of movement and a blind
ing flash of light. I heard two gunshots in quick succession. I saw Saresh fall. I felt a searing pain in my arm. Then everything went dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Consciousness returned slowly. At first I was aware of nothing beyond a murmur of voices. They rose and fell like waves on a distant shore. I lay for a long time with my eyes closed, listening, until the current of sound resolved itself into words. I heard a man’s voice and a woman’s. Before I could identify them, I drifted into sleep again for a little while. Swimming up toward wakefulness a second time, I recalled what I had seen in the moments before the darkness closed in: the flare of light, the confused blur of movement, the stabbing pain high on my right arm. In a rush of terror I tried to sit up. Strong hands caught me and held me gently but insistently in place. I opened my eyes. The hands were Daskar’s. She was sitting on the edge of my bed, which I recognized as one of the narrow cots in the medical clinic, with my trauma kit open beside her.
Instantly I relaxed. Daskar eased me back down on the bed. “It’s all right, Avery. It’s over. You’re safe.”
“Vekesh?” I whispered.
“In custody and under guard. He can’t hurt you again.”
The tears came without warning. Daskar had been watching my face, and she must have known before I did, because she slid forward along the bed and opened her arms to me. I went into them as if into a mother’s embrace. Daskar held me while the sobs shook my body. They went on for a long time. Recovering at last, I straightened, wiping ineffectually at my eyes. “Thank you. I’m sorry—your uniform is drenched.”
She smiled. “I’ll survive. We all will. No thanks to Reyjai Vekesh.”
“Saresh?”
She nodded to the adjacent bed, which, I saw, was occupied by the hadazi. He appeared to be peacefully asleep. His uniform had been cut away from his left leg below the knee, and the exposed flesh was heavily bandaged. “Saresh will be fine. The bullet struck him just below his knee. There are clean entry and exit wounds. He’ll have a scar, but that’s all.”
Ascending (The Vardeshi Saga Book 1) Page 28
