by Rachel Caine
**DIRECT-H2-APP-SCORPIONXPOISON-ENCODED**
From: Torian Deluca
To: Derry McKinnon
I gave you wings. Now fly. And kill Zara Cole.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Binding Mercy
FOR A RIDICULOUSLY low price, I bought a small amount of something called flaff that Bea, on analyzing, assured me would be nutritionally adequate for our Phage—not that she’d come to terms with the fact we were making one welcome. I tried to tell the vendor I needed all he could give me. For answer, he shoved something about the size of a loaf of bread at me. It came in its own steel box. Oh no, no way was I opening another damn sealed box on the Sliver. I shoved it back. “I need a thousand times more than that!” I barked.
In response, the vendor—a short, squatty grayish creature I hadn’t seen before on the station—entered a code. He pulled out another identical box and opened it. That one was empty. He also pulled out a gigantic, terrifyingly large knife that was more like a scimitar, and then he opened the first box.
Immediately, the substance inside—a weird, moving, wetly green organism—swelled to twice its size. The proprietor swung the sword, cut it cleanly at the top of the box, jammed the excess into the other box, and slammed and locked both boxes. “Grows very fast,” he said. “A pest. You want, no refunds, no complaints.”
Something that was nutritional, dangerous, and grew at a furious pace? That sounded ideal for the Phage to chew on. “Got a flaff-killer in case it gets out of control?”
“Absolutely.” It thumped down another box and flipped the lid to show me about a hundred small bottles. “One bottle kills completely. Box a sample before using if you want to preserve flaff for later.”
“Neat,” I said. “How much?”
I suppose it shouldn’t have been a shock that the stuff to kill flaff was twice as expensive as the flaff, but it clearly was a worthwhile investment. I paid. Bacia had given us some station credit, which they damn well should have.
Drones arrived on schedule, a massive fleet of them that just barely fit, even stacked one on top of another inside the docking bay. We’d have to deploy some to land a second Hopper, but I figured that was a decent tradeoff.
So. Stacking it was, but at least, once programmed by Bea, they did that all by themselves. Smart, deadly things, with sharp lines and alien sensibilities.
We’d also negotiated for high-intensity artificial sunlight to be blasting at precisely regulated frequencies at both ships while we waited, so by the time we’d finished our station duties, Typhon and Nadim seemed a little steadier. I hated taking them back into battle like this, but chances were Lifekiller would play hard to get for a while, and we’d have a chance to orbit some suns and get both ships back up to full strength.
At least, that’s what I was hoping.
“Suncross and I made a decision,” Bea said. “Construction is installing weapons on both Nadim and Typhon like what the Bruqvisz carry. They seemed very effective against the Phage.”
“The globulators?” I asked.
“That is not a word,” Bea said.
“The things that glue things together, right? Those are cool. How much does it cost?”
Suncross’s image filled the screen behind her on the bridge. He pounded his console with four fists. But lightly, as I assumed it wasn’t quite as sturdy as the bar table in Pinky’s. “Nothing!” he boomed. “Made bets. Won big while away. Bet on Abyin Dommas again, but only for preliminary rounds. Never bet on finals.”
“Good plan,” I said. “And thanks.”
All four lizard palms showed toward me. “No thanks,” he said. “We thank you for chance at decent combats. Boring out here. No real opponents who don’t fall apart in the first pass. Phage are worthy of our time.”
I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but yeah, I got the sentiment. Good enemies were hard to find. “Well, we’re grateful anyway. Gives us a better shot at fighting this thing. Listen, you’re not obliged to come with us again; far as I’m concerned, you more than paid your debts . . .”
“Zeerakull. Do you really believe we would pass up the chance to fight a legendary god-king? Never!” Suncross’s enthusiasm was like a little kid visiting a toy store for the first time. “Our families will write of our battles one day.”
“Your family will write of the battles . . . ?” Somehow, I was expected drinking songs.
“Yes. Of course.” He blinked at me, as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d asked the question.
Starcurrent said, “The Bruqvisz are renowned for their novels and histories. Bestsellers in kiosks across the system.”
I just . . . okay. “Great,” I said. “Well, be sure to get my name right when you do it.”
“Where are we going first?” Suncross asked.
“Don’t know,” I said. “I’ll consult our, uh, expert.” I hadn’t told him about the Phage. I didn’t even like the fact that Bacia knew. I wondered if their Bruqvisz guards were chatty, and word would spread all over the Sliver; wouldn’t take long to reach Suncross’s ears if so. But he didn’t seem to be bothered, at least for now.
I took the flaff down to the hold where we’d locked up the Phage. It was a big, empty space, but as I stepped inside I noticed that the Phage had, somehow, built itself some amenities. A thin silky construction that stretched from one side of the room to the other. Another silky one that ran ceiling to floor. I didn’t know what they were for, but I was pretty sure it built them out of extruded material, like a spider.
The Phage was climbing the vertical rope when I entered with one of the flaff boxes. I unlocked it but didn’t open the lid. I kept my eyes on the shiny, nauseatingly jointed carapace as it twirled and spun on the rope. Was it doing something useful? Exercising? Having fun? I couldn’t tell, but it suddenly released the rope and thumped to the floor, and I came instantly upright with a hand on my gun.
The Phage spread all its limbs, except the two it was using for legs, and showed me a sickly gray underbelly. “I come in peace,” it said. “Zara Cole. That is your name, yes?”
“Yes,” I said. “Hi. Brought you food.”
It tilted its head a little downward and said, “Flaff.”
“Hope that’s okay. Bea said it would nourish you.”
“Is . . . home food. We eat when nothing else available.”
“You know how fast it grows?”
“Will manage growth and eat small,” it said. “Will lock up when finished. I thank you for the meal.”
The Phage was polite, and it was getting on my nerves. “Yeah, well, fine. Don’t make a mess.” I cleared my throat. “Where do we go to find Lifekiller?”
The Phage pointed to the box. I moved away, as far as I could go, and pressed my shoulders against Nadim’s skin. Felt him with me, watching closely. He didn’t speak aloud, but I clearly got the image that if he felt something was about to go wrong, he’d take action. I wasn’t sure what he could do, though.
I still got the wonderful, steadying sense that he was looking out for me.
I watched as the Phage opened the box with a flick of a talon, and in a lightning-fast move, sliced the first bulge of growth off the flaff, and closed the lid. The flaff it had sliced off was still growing, but the Phage’s maw began chewing it away faster than a blender, and in a matter of seconds, it was gone. Nothing left. I felt sick and lightheaded watching that.
“Is good,” the Phage said. “Thank you.”
“Sure. Lifekiller. Directions. Now.”
It was silent for a moment, then said, “Ready to provide coordinates.” It reeled off a set of numbers, impossibly long, and then climbed up its rope again to twirl. “Will not be there long. You should hurry.”
“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t going to hurry. Our ships were in no shape yet for a pitched battle. I just wanted to confirm the Phage was giving us good intel, so we could head that direction and make sure it wasn’t just spouting random bullshit for its supper. “What are you doing?” I couldn�
��t resist asking.
“Talking,” it said.
“I mean, on the rope.”
It didn’t answer me. Maybe it didn’t know. I shrugged and started to leave.
“Zara Cole,” it said. “I have thought of a name. I will be called Xyll.”
Not a human name. “Okay. What does it mean?”
“In the Abyin Dommas tongue, it means ‘alone.’”
I blinked. No. I was not going to feel sorry for this eating machine that had torn its way through Leviathan bodies without remorse. I was not.
“Xyll it is,” I said. “If you’re lying to us, Xyll, I’ll kill you.”
It kept twirling.
Bea caught up with me outside, and I had the distinct impression she’d been lingering as backup. She was even armed, which for her was far from the usual. She looked good in a gun belt, though. I noticed she’d taken to weaving her hair into a single, thick, square braid at the back of her head. The little curls that escaped around her face looked delicate and sweet. So did her relieved smile.
“Thanks for not dying,” she said. “Honestly, that thing scares me. Doesn’t it you?”
“Sure,” I said, though I wasn’t sure that was a hundred percent right anymore. I hated what it had done too. But the fear was way down now that it had demonstrated an ability to understand social interactions. “It says it wants to be called Xyll.”
“I’m not calling it that.”
“Why not? You’re okay with Starcurrent and Suncross and ships big enough to blot out the sun having names and personalities—”
“It doesn’t have a personality.”
“Bea.”
“I don’t want to think of it that way.”
I didn’t push it. Wasn’t even sure why I cared, really. Xyll was an enemy, pure and simple; whether on its own or as part of a swarm, it could do tremendous damage to all of us. We needed to be on guard. Maybe Bea was right to keep her distance.
“Did you get the coordinates?” I asked her. She nodded. “Are they valid?”
“Well, they designate a point in space,” she said. “As to whether the swarm is there, and Lifekiller . . . I guess we won’t know that until we get there.”
She was right about that.
“I don’t think it was lying, Beatriz,” Nadim said helpfully. “And it seems to be behaving as it promised. Apart from building webs in its room.”
Ugh, now that he’d called them webs I wasn’t going to sleep again. “How close do we need to get to find out if he’s telling the truth?”
“I expect Typhon’s better at sensing the Phage,” he said. “I will ask.”
While there were no immediate fires to put out, I took the chance to clean up, take care of my hair and skin. I put a silk wrap around my head and went down to the kitchen to wolf down some food. I was tired as hell, but I didn’t feel like napping was the right thing to do while we were Phage hunting. Still, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to lie down for just a bit on the couch. I’d just close my eyes.
About an hour later, Nadim woke me up to tell me, “Typhon cannot hear the Phage yet, but we are half a day away, even at this speed. I am sorry to disturb you.”
No sorrier than I was. I yawned and stretched. The hour’s nap had made my muscles feel thick and achy, and my head pounded with the desire to lie down again. “It’ll be a few hours then, at least.”
“Definitely. I can tell that you are tired, Zara. Recent events have been difficult for everyone. Too much fear, not enough peace. If you don’t recharge, you won’t have the strength for what is to come. And you cannot drink starlight.” His voice was sheer tenderness, to the point that the top of my head tingled.
Getting geared up for war hadn’t changed Nadim at the heart. I didn’t have the energy to argue when I wanted some downtime too.
I went back to my room, grabbed my blanket, and lay down on the floor. It had been a while since we’d bonded like this, and while I wasn’t looking to go flying as Zadim, we could both use a little snuggle time. I closed my eyes; they would summon me if anything dire happened or if Xyll decided to munch on something other than its supply of flaff.
I dropped into a light bond and savored the sweet click of homecoming. In a way, this unity was more nourishing than sleep. Because I was joined with Nadim, I had hazy, secondhand impressions of starsong skimming through me like smooth jazz. Somehow, I was starting to process the sounds like music too, and I could swear that I was almost able to pick out trumpets, sax, and trombone. The high call of a lonely voice, gravelly at the bottom like Nina Simone. Deep down I knew that was my human brain’s way of processing the alien and unfamiliar, but it still sounded beautiful.
But it was also muted. Distant. “It feels different,” I mumbled.
“What does?”
“Energy. The plating . . . it blocks some of your ability to heal, interferes with absorption efficiency.” When I realized it, I snapped fully awake. “Why didn’t you tell me there were side effects?”
Nadim was silent a long time. Finally, he said, “To keep you from worrying. There are no perfect solutions, Zara. For every choice, there is a trade-off. Each road taken means another path closes.”
“I’m not interested in philosophical double-talk. You yelled at me before for not looping you in, and that was fair. I apologized. Don’t you owe me the same?” Okay, so maybe this wasn’t on the same level as deciding to die like a big damn hero, but still.
“I am sorry.” And he did sound it. “Believe me when I say the additional protection is worth the exchange. One day, when it’s safe, perhaps I can remove the armor and feel the starlight on my skin again.” There was a pulse of mourning, buried deep, that he didn’t want me to feel, almost like . . . homesickness.
Back home in the Honors footage, they always talked about how serious it was to make the decision to go on the Journey. There was a reason each Leviathan returned to Earth after the Tour; if an Honor was offered a place on the Journey—which I now realized meant fighting the Phage—they were also given the chance to tie up loose ends at home. Saying good-bye to their families, closing bank accounts, ending their old human lives.
I’d been so swept up in the life-and-death dramatics of this great adventure that I hadn’t really considered the implications of all that. There might only be Derry’s betrayal waiting for me on Earth—and Deluca’s revenge, and a father I didn’t ever want to see again—but Mom and Kiz, they were on Mars. And I hadn’t told them I loved them one last time or anything. I hadn’t said good-bye.
“Zara?” As ever, he felt my shifting mood.
“Are we really never allowed to go back home?” I asked quietly. And then I told him what I was thinking, about my mom and sister. “I mean, it was extraordinary circumstances with Bea and me, and she left so many people behind who love her.”
“I am sorry, Zara. But we cannot tell those on Earth about the risks we encounter here. Long ago, our Elders judged that humans were too dangerous and violent to be allowed to know of other worlds. Perhaps someday, when your people have proven themselves—”
“Hang on a hot second, what?” This time, I sat up. Tired as I was, a good shot of anger burned my weariness back. “We’re too dangerous and violent? What do you call all these other backstabbing pirates we rubbed elbows with on the Sliver? What do you call Bacia?”
“Bacia, and those other species, were in space long before you.” Nadim sounded prim now. Made me madder. “Your species lacks the control to be allowed to—”
“Excuse me, but I’m right here. Are you telling me I don’t have enough self-control?”
“You are different, Zara.”
“I’m not. Bea’s not either. We are human. And you’re treating humanity like a mess somebody should clean up, or a virus you don’t want the universe to catch. Well, screw that.” I flopped back down. “If we want to go home, we will. If we want to tell the world about what we’ve been through, we will.”
I knew what he was trying to say about us, thoug
h. Seemed like I remembered reading a book in rehab, an old one that dated back before the Leviathan came, where some so-called expert theorized that the reason we hadn’t encountered intelligent life in the cosmos was that sentient beings tended to repeat a cycle of technological advancement that ended in self-annihilation.
Back then, that idea seemed stupid to me because we’d met the Leviathan long before I was born, so that notion was obviously wrong. Except maybe he was onto something, only the percentage of killers that evolved was high, but not the sum of all life. After all, while the Leviathan were explorers and the Abyin Dommas were peaceable, humanity, the Bruqvisz, and the Jellies were violent. Bacia had a sociopathic streak. I’d run into plenty of warlike races . . . more than peaceful ones. So why hold humanity back, specifically?
“You will destroy the Honors program if you do.”
“Maybe we should.” I closed my eyes. “Tell the truth. Part of the reason you don’t tell humanity the truth is you need soldiers for your war. A lot of Honors have died out in the black, and our people at home have no idea. That’s not right, Nadim.”
It made me mad all over again that we were fighting this shitty covert war. Didn’t change anything that I was good at it, or that I liked it most of the time. The Honors program was the biggest damn con of all time, set in motion by a race that was supposed to be benevolent and good. And maybe they were, mostly. But they were afraid. And they’d tricked us.
“No,” he said softly. “I know it isn’t right. But is destroying the progress that your world has made a better choice? If they reject the Honors program, if they reject the trade we offer, what then?”
“Then they get to make an honest choice for a change,” I said. “And the Leviathan get to stop lying. What’s wrong with that?”
Before he could tell me, my H2 popped with Bea’s worried face. “Zara, you awake? We’ve arrived at the coordinates the Phage gave us, and . . . just come to Ops.”
“What is it?” I scrambled up, tossing the blanket back on my bed. “Bea?”
