How many had he witnessed sobbing in these very rooms? Dragged back to what he had insinuated would be torture and death?
It was little wonder he was immune to hers.
“I disagree,” he countered. “I have found your recollections to be most illuminating.”
She glanced at him, brow furrowing. “Really?” She couldn’t imagine how. Everything she’d described was simply family life. Difficulties between too many brothers and sisters, hardships that came from being born into a poor farming colony with harsh overseers to ensure none took more than their due.
But, according to him, he had no family. Only doctors and tests and manipulations, work horrible enough that he thought his extreme response was utterly justified.
“What’s on Renganosh?” she asked, changing the direction of the conversation. She doubted it would work, as he avoided every time she’d asked it before, but she was desperate.
He eyed her speculatively, clearly seeing what she was doing but trying to decide his own course of action. And, to her surprise, he answered. “Power cells, for one.”
Clairy gave him a sceptical look. “I thought if the power cells were damaged, nothing would be working at all.” She gestured around her, the lights bright and fully functional, and the breakfast that had been prepared with the computer’s assistance.
“This is true,” he amended. “But my ship had just been in use and it was not allowed time for its reserves to be at full capacity. I wish to have additional nodes in case of disaster between planets.”
She was not certain that was technically correct. Surely there were stations available throughout the quadrant that did not require actually landing on them. But it felt silly to argue with him, especially when she could be just as easily proven wrong. She knew little beyond what was in her own sphere of experience, and she did not like to be reminded of her ignorance.
“What else is there?” she continued, grateful he was finally confiding in her and wanting to see the extent of it. But he shook his head with a knowing glint in his eyes.
“I have provided you an answer to your query. It is time that you provide me with one for mine.”
She grimaced, instead taking a bite of porridge. “What question was that?” she asked innocently, knowing it was a foolish thing to do because he always seemed to know when she was lying. But his mood was such that he did not draw attention to her evasion, simply reiterating his enquiry.
“You are acting strangely. I wish to know the reason.”
Clairy swallowed her bite, the substance only growing thicker the longer she allowed it to sit unattended. A quick sip of water was next, helping to thin it along, the blob no longer feeling like a congealed mass in her oesophagus.
Or perhaps it was nerves making her throat feel unnaturally tight. She would not be the least surprised.
“Cydrin,” she began, knowing he was not going to let this go, but not seeing any good that might come of it. He lacked any remorse, so why should he care if she was mourning? If anything, it would simply insult him, and she did not want to repeat that again.
He had not struck her, no, but she was reminded of that first terrible day with him, when her fear was nearly a tangible thing, clutching and groping at her, the panic so hard to control.
Better he be his calm, steady self. Who might ask too many questions of her, might hold unrealistic expectations of her, but at least was not frightening her overly much.
She sighed, still uncertain of what to say that would appease him. So she settled on honesty. “I don’t know what to say that... that won’t upset you.”
He blinked at her, his head tilting slightly. “I am never upset,” he corrected, and from the look on his face, he truly believed that.
Clairy could not help it. She scoffed, a laugh bubbling out against her will, a short outburst that she quickly stifled by clapping a hand over her unruly mouth.
Cydrin looked at her if she had gone mad.
Maybe she had.
“M’sorry,” she mumbled out, not sure enough of her composure to release her hand.
“Are you ill?” he questioned, his eyes flicking upstairs for reasons she could not name. Maybe there was a medkit up there?
Or maybe he was thinking of plottings to the nearest hospital, but that option was quickly dismissed. As if he would go anywhere near a doctor with his history, even if she needed one.
“No,” she assured him, though belatedly she realised it might have been wiser to allow him to think so. To insist she needed to lie down rather than answer his question. But given her resistance to it, she was fairly certain he would only grow more insistent, prodding her as soon as she ventured from the bed once more. “I’m sorry for laughing.”
His look was severe. “I am not certain I believe you are in full health.” She flinched as a hand came nearer, not providing the biting sting she had half-expected, but resting on her chin, fingers pressing lightly as he pushed gently, her head falling backward so he could better study her.
It was intensely uncomfortable to be scrutinised so, to be touched by him at all, but she bore it because she did not know what else to do. He seemed to be paying particular attention to her eyes, moving her head from side to side, not the rough, jerking motion of a careless man, but one with careful control.
That seemed an integral part of him, and she could understand how he liked to believe that his emotions were always under firm reign. But she had seen it begin to slip, had seen the hard, sporadic edges of anger about his person, and that had been what inspired her terror.
Surely he could see that.
“I’m fine, really,” she assured him when at last he released her, his hand slow in its retreat.
She shivered, and she could not name why.
“Perhaps a diagnostic would not be remiss,” he mused to himself. She had seen him wave a probe over his person a few days ago, but he had ignored any questions about it. She should have known it was for medical use, especially since she had been given a physical when she’d first arrived at the Project—something that had been new and exhilarating at the time. There had been no such care in the colony, not unless something horrid had happened. Jer had broken an arm once, and even then, her parents had fretted about whether it would be seen as important enough to trouble the medics.
But they’d risked it, risked the consequences of bothering their betters with an ailment better tended at home, and Jer had returned, bone mended and looking altogether relieved.
She remembered how kind the doctors had been as they explained her results. She was fit to begin work, but some of her nutritional levels were lacking, so they had made suggestions accordingly. She had wanted to defend her family, defend herself, that she’d done the best she could with what had been available, but that would waste the doctors’ time, so she’d remained silent.
Even now, she felt poorly about that.
That they would make assumptions about her parents and their evident lack of care.
“I don’t need a diagnostic,” Clairy informed him. “I’ve had one recently and I was healthy enough.”
A flicker in his eyes suggested he understood her addition of enough for what it was, but she did not offer any further clarification. Those were private matters, and she had not even shared them with her parents during their weekly call. It would only worry them, for her and for the rest of their children, and there was nothing they could do differently.
“Then you will explain yourself with words,” Cydrin insisted, his tone suggesting his patience was wearing thin.
Her own irritation was rising, mixing with trepidation into a sickening sort of muddle, and this time her chin tilted upward of its own volition. “I’ve been thinking of my family, if you must know. Of how I can’t pretend that news hasn’t reached them about me. How... how angry I am about that, and...” she closed her eyes, simply because she did not know how to finish her thought without flinging at him the full truth of her accusation.
“If you
refuse to speak plainly, I will be forced to make my own assumptions regarding your true meaning.”
Clairy sighed, wishing she had something to add to the porridge so she could use her meal as a distraction. But she worried about what reasons he would concoct on his own, and decided to focus on the most pressing of her troubles. It would be so easy to dwell on her anger with the man beside her, to rage and scream at the injustice he had caused her, regardless of his justifications. But dread at the potential consequences stilled her tongue and directed her toward a point that at least might prove useful.
“What harm could there be in me sending a message to my family? They have no means to track you, no connections to anyone powerful that might intervene. Why do they need to think I’m dead? Why must they suffer through that?”
Cydrin did not answer immediately. That did not give her hope, not exactly, but she was encouraged that he did not immediately laugh, did not sneer at her, claiming she was foolish and naive.
“How would that benefit them?” he asked instead, and she opened her mouth, arguments ready to pour forth with barely any thought required. But he held up a hand, giving her pause. “You believe it would give them comfort, yes?” She gave a cautious nod, uncertain. “Consider the alternative. I permit your contact, and do you tell them the truth? That you are still with the one responsible for the deaths of so many, with no idea when you can return?” He leaned in closer. “If you will return to them?”
Clairy suppressed a whimper, hating that he voiced a very real possibility.
“Or perhaps you concoct some other story. That by some miracle, you avoided the disaster,” he did sneer then, a hint of satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “That you had run away from the post you claimed to need, that you were with a companion, unwilling to return home to them.” She could feel his attention on her, studying her reaction. “Is that what they would prefer to hear?”
She shook her head, perhaps in denial, or perhaps simply in the attempt to block out his words entirely. “This isn’t fair,” she complained, burying her head in her hands. “I don’t want to make this kind of choice.”
She sounded like a child, and she knew it. Like one of her siblings, unhappy with some small inconvenience, huffing and puffing rather than accepting their reality.
A hand, heavy and unwelcome, settled on her shoulder. “Which is why I shall make it for you.”
His audacity astounded her. That he could sit there, the cause of all her troubles, and think that he was somehow helping her. Bearing burdens that were too difficult for her to manage, making choices that only caused her distress. She could simply float, absolved of any wrongdoing, forced and manipulated. Innocent.
Why was he touching her? That was twice now he had instigated it, the first at least more analytic in nature. This was different. It was something she might have done for a friend that was having difficulties, a simple gesture as a reminder that she was there. That they were not alone.
But he had saved her, a part of her urged. He had chosen her, chosen to keep her from harm, chosen to bring her with him, to keep her safe, to keep her fed, for... whatever reason he had decided to keep for himself.
“Clairy,” he said sharply, alarm clear in his tone. “Why are you crying?”
She wanted to shrug off his hand, but he withdrew it quickly enough, and she wiped at her eyes, not at all wanting this to be the beginning of her day. She almost told him that she did not know, but he so often seemed to know when she was telling only half-truths, and he did not care for them.
“I’m all tangled up,” she admitted, pressing a fist to the centre of her chest, illustrating her point. “In here. And today it just... it just feels too much.”
“Yesterday it did not,” Cydrin observed. “Perhaps you should dwell more on the things of that day.”
She glanced at him, seeing that he was perfectly serious, and she had to suppress a bubble of incredulous laughter that threatened to escape her anyway. It was in those moments that she believed him. He viewed the world so clinically, like a subject raised by none but researchers. If something bothered her, think of something else. If she was distressed, find a distraction. Never confront the issue, never try to change it. Simply alter one’s mindset.
Powerless.
That’s what he had been. When he did not believe that his circumstances could change. When he had tried to keep from going mad.
And had not really succeeded in the process.
“I guess I could pretend better yesterday,” she admitted, not truly caring if he grew upset with her. At least, not in the moment.
He did not appear terribly pleased with her response, but anger did not flicker through him, hot and dangerous. “I do not wish for you to have to pretend,” he told her, his words slow and careful.
If he had been another man, she would have thought he was hurt.
She eyed him tiredly, wondering what he really wanted of her. “You don’t? So when I’m heart-sore for my parents, you wish for me to tell you? When the day of Camter’s wedding passes and I am not there, I am free to mourn in front of you?”
He blinked mildly at her, but there was a stiffness to his posture that had not been there before. “Who is Camter?”
She sighed. Perhaps she had not mentioned the name to him before in all her rambling. Or perhaps he simply could not keep all of her siblings straight in his mind. That was not uncommon, even in the large families surrounding her own. “My elder brother,” she clarified, wondering why she bothered. “He is marrying Ishta. She... she was my friend and asked me to stand up with her.”
Cydrin shook his head. “I am not knowledgeable in your marriage customs, so I do not know what that indicates.” Did it cost him something, to admit when he did not know? To have to acknowledge the lack of education that he’d been provided?
It did for her. There could be no room for pride when one constantly had to admit the towering number of unknowns.
It made her soften, if only a little. To commiserate with him, if only for a moment. “I don’t know how it is with other worlds either. But for us, four people are chosen to stand witness. It is an honour to be asked, but also a responsibility. If the overseers question the union, you have to be willing to intervene.”
A twitch of muscle, and she thought he was mimicking one of her more dubious expressions. It did not look quite right, and it was enough to make her smile, despite herself, even if it was at her own expense given her slight frame and lack of notable skill in defence. “You question her selection?”
Another nod. “As you say.”
“It never really comes down to a fight. But it prevents couples from pretending they are wed when they were not.”
“Then you would still be a poor selection, as you no longer live amongst them.”
She was ready to retort that he had seen to that, but he was right. She had chosen to accept the position long before that, the one that would take her away from the rest of them, that would make it difficult for her to discharge her duties as witness beyond anything symbolic.
But Ishta had asked anyway, and she had gladly accepted. Not regretful of her choice to leave, but heartened to know she had not been forgotten. Not entirely.
“I hope she asks someone else,” Clairy responded instead. “I hope they still get married.” A dim smile, one far less genuine than the last. “Maybe they’ll name their firstborn after me.”
She was being morose, and she knew it. A benefit to no one. She did not want a namesake, did not want her family to watch a child and constantly be reminded of their loss.
She did feel better, if only marginally. After telling him of her troubles, despite his inability or unwillingness to ease them in any meaningful way. But perhaps speaking them was like drawing out a poison, and she could mend, one word at a time.
Though he did not deserve her confidence. Did not deserve to be the one to comfort her.
But he was all she had.
He had made certain of that.
She looked to Cydrin, alarmed, and he rose from the bench, his face revealing nothing.
“What is that?” she asked, uncertain of the feelings that jumbled at the unknown. Was it rescue? Or was she now, after she had accepted so much from him, was she counted an accomplice?
“We are entering orbit,” Cydrin intoned, shattering her delusions of the craft being boarded.
“Orbit,” she repeated. She had never done that before. Left, yes, but another planet entirely?
He looked back at her, strangely hesitant. “Would you care to see?”
It was an offer she had not expected, but curiosity bid her stand, had her follow, putting aside the knot of rights and wrongs that had did not seem to be able to sort out.
There was always tomorrow for that.
For now, she would see a planet. Not the projection she had watched for days, but the real thing.
And soon they would be landing on it.
And despite knowing it was wrong, she felt a thrill at the prospect.
9
It was an odd thing, this landing. He had visited many planets, had observed many cultures as he moved through their ranks like a wraith, unnoticed and unseen even as he spied out his prey, judging the best manner for apprehension.
But this time was different.
It was not a matter of hiding, but of bracing himself for interaction.
He was being foolish, and he knew it. He was not like the girl at his side, jittering with anticipation and excitement, so different from the slumped, miserable thing he had shared first-meal with. The turns of her moods were so variable that he struggled to maintain his patience, but listening seemed to help, and it was not a terribly taxing venture.
Mostly.
There was much she was not saying, and he could admit to himself that for the briefest of moments, he had rifled through the tactics used by the masters to ascertain information. Painful, humiliating things that he firmly decided were nothing he would use on Clairy.
Designation 261 (The Wholeness Project) Page 11
