“Er. I helped my father build a birdhouse once.”
“An impressive project.” Rias smiled and pulled another log out. “But don’t you want to explore the pumping house and look for language clues?”
“Yes.” Though her curiosity would have to wait for satisfaction, she would rather translate runes than hammer nails anyway.
“Be careful in there. Touching things is how my team got in trouble. Multiple times.”
“I won’t touch anything,” she said. “Unless I can read the label and know what it is.”
With journal in hand, Tikaya headed to the structure. Though dwarfed by the cavern, it rose more than fifty feet and sported three rows of windows along each side. She paused inside the threshold, patting down pockets until she located a pencil. Before she headed deeper, Sicarius spoke to Rias.
“I bring you a message from the emperor.”
Her ears perked.
“Oh?” Rias said.
“He believes you’ve been sufficiently punished for your transgressions and is willing to return everything to you—your name, your rank, your land—if you cooperate with Bocrest and myself and we’re able to accomplish this mission.”
Tikaya pressed a hand against the wall. She barely saw the vast room she had stepped into as she waited for Rias’s answer. When it came, it was so soft she almost missed it.
“My ship? My command?”
“Yes,” Sicarius said. “You can return with Bocrest, in command of the Emperor’s Fist until you can be transferred to the Raptor and resume your full duties.”
Say no, Tikaya urged. Tell him and your sprite-licked emperor to fall on their swords.
“What is the mission exactly?” Rias asked.
Tikaya clenched a fist around her pencil. What was he doing? He couldn’t possibly be considering this offer. He had to know it was only coming because the war had gone badly after he disappeared. Disobeyed orders or not, the emperor must have realized he overreacted and come to regret ousting his star admiral.
“Kill the terrorists mucking around in here,” Sicarius said, “obtain the weapons for our use, and seal the tunnels.”
There. All her suspicions confirmed. She wished she had been wrong.
“And what of Tikaya?” Rias asked.
“She’s only here to help with the translations.”
“Bocrest has orders to kill her.”
Tikaya nodded to herself, thankful Rias cared enough to be concerned. He might be tempted by the promise of getting his command—his life—back, but she did not believe he would throw her to the wolves on the way. She might even be the sticking point in this insidious proposition.
“Bocrest’s orders were to ensure her cooperation by whatever means necessary,” Sicarius said. “If we complete the mission, you’ll outrank him again, and you can choose who lives or dies. If you own her loyalty, perhaps you could convince the emperor that it would be more desirable to employ a gifted cryptographer than kill her.”
Own her loyalty? Presumptuous ass. But he was good. Curse him, he was good. Bocrest never could have swayed Rias, but this seventeen-year-old kid had all the right answers.
“I will consider your offer,” Rias said, giving away nothing of his thoughts. “For now, let’s get working.”
“Agreed.”
Tikaya headed into the room. Her interest in exploring had diminished, but she did not want to be caught eavesdropping. She forced herself into work mode. If the others came in, they would expect her to have made progress.
Tanks and pipes dominated the back half of the vast room, but she gravitated toward rows of black panels where more symbols than she had seen in one place marked the faces. A large oval glowed softly, displaying what she guessed were schematics or diagrams monitoring the station. She copied symbols, but her mind dwelled on Rias’s conversation with the assassin, and she struggled to concentrate.
“Focus,” she muttered to herself.
She tilted her head back to massage her neck and noticed only two rows of windows. There were three outside, so there had to be another story up there. No stairs, ladder, or anything similar led upward. Turgonians had steam-powered lifts in their taller buildings—might this advanced race have something like that too?
She circumnavigated the interior, finally spotting a pale blue circle glowing on the floor in one corner. Thinking it might mark a place where a lift would descend, she waved a hand above it. Nothing happened. She pressed her boot into it and pulled it out. Nothing. Finally, she stood in the center with both feet planted.
Air whooshed around her.
“Errkt,” she blurted, dropping her journal.
A platform of air thrust from below, propelling her upward. A circle in the ceiling slid aside, and the force raised her through a hole. As soon as her feet cleared the aperture, the floor slid back into place, and she stood on a second blue circle. It felt solid, but she jumped to the side anyway.
A cozy space spread before her. Though she could identify little at first glance, she had the impression of living quarters and furnishings. Perhaps the caretaker for the pumping house had dwelled there. If so, she had a chance to see beyond the weapons-building, experimenting-on-humans side of the ancient people.
Tikaya roamed the space, repeatedly reminding herself not to touch things. Furnishings included cubes, octagonal structures, high tables, and a large hollow sphere open on two sides. No knickknacks or artwork decorated the surfaces, nor could she find practical tools such as eating implements, but perhaps all that had been taken when the occupant left for...wherever these people went.
There was one exception. In a storage area, she found a rack designed to hold spheres slightly smaller than her fist. The rest of the concave slots were empty, save for one. She slid the smooth black sphere out. A few groupings of runes ringed the center. She did not recognize them, but eagerness suffused her. Here was an artifact she could take with her to show the world. She pocketed it to check against the runes in Lancecrest’s journal later.
She was about to peer out the window to check on Rias’s progress, when her gaze snagged on a clear tank against the far wall. All the furnishings were made from the usual black material, but that piece was as clear as Tenesian glass. An inkling that it might be a bathtub enticed her further. Why settle for washing in front of marines and teenage assassins in the reservoir when she had this private room? And with the men off exploring, what were the odds anyone would stumble upon her? Hammer blows started up outside, so the two remaining men were busy on Rias’s project.
Wary about making assumptions and touching the wrong thing, she puzzled over a small plaque near the ledge. She recognized the symbols for water and animals, but who would bathe animals? Then the pieces clicked into place: not animals, fish. It was an aquarium. Perhaps the plant siphoned off aquatic life from the stream for saving or for studying, or perhaps they simply liked observing fish for the same reasons as humans. Either way, Tikaya grinned. She was not above bathing in an aquarium.
She fiddled with the controls, and soon water flowed from an overhang around the inside of the tank. Her grin widened when she discovered she could change the temperature. Not only could she have a bath, but she could have a hot bath.
She snorted at herself. Such a female characteristic to be so tickled at the idea of a warm bath. She shrugged, removed her boots, and unbuttoned the Turgonian military jacket with relish. How she missed her sandals and loose hemp dresses.
There was no place nearby to set the clothing, so she folded it and crossed the room to leave everything on something octagonal, flat, and chest-high she decided to call a table. She skipped back to the tank and slipped over the side. Warm water embraced her, and she shivered with delight. She unbraided her hair, submerged everything, then draped her arms over the sides and laid her head on the ledge. Bliss. The bath reminded her of the volcanic hot springs near her family’s property. She wondered how everyone back home was doing. The harvest would be over by now. She had missed her nep
hew’s birthday and her parents’ anniversary celebration. She closed her eyes, lost in memories of home.
“Tikaya?” Rias called sometime later.
She sat up, and water sloshed over the side. When had the hammering stopped outside?
“Tikaya, are you all right?”
“Fine!” She scrambled out of the tub. “I’m fine up here.”
Naked and dripping water, she peered about for something to use as a towel.
“You didn’t touch anything, did you?” He sounded like he was right below the lift.
She darted for her clothes even as air whooshed.
Rias appeared on the platform before she made it half way. Worry furrowed his brow, and he clutched her journal. That expression changed to a wide-eyed gape when he spotted her.
Frozen mid-step, Tikaya felt ridiculous—and guilty at being caught relaxing while everyone else worked.
“I, uhm, sorry.” She stood, dripping, not sure where to put her hands or how to explain. “I found this tub, you see, and it’s been so long, and, well, one does get sort of dirty tussling with tunnel monsters and marching across the tundra, and...”
Rias was just staring. She really ought to shut up and put some clothes on.
He closed his eyes and clenched a fist, looking very much like a man trying to control his temper. With rigid, precise motions, he walked to the table, placed the journal on it, and turned his back on her.
“Take your time,” he rasped, then stepped on the platform and disappeared.
Belatedly, she realized it was not his temper he had been struggling to control. Her first thought was that she should have hopped into his arms and invited him to join her in the tub. Her second thought was to remember he was on top of the Kyatt Islands enemies-of-state list and that she had no idea what kind of seeds Sicarius’s promises had planted in his head. The third thought ran the way of dismissing the second and seeing what might come of the first.
“Tikaya, you think too much,” she muttered, grabbing her clothes.
Outside, she found Rias and Sicarius building the frame of something that promised to be large. While the assassin dragged wood over, Rias knelt, his back to her, and hammered. Hard.
“Rias?” she asked between whacks.
His shoulders tensed, and he hunched his neck. “Yes?”
She took a couple steps toward him. “May I speak with you?”
He fiddled with the hammer. “I should keep working, try to get this done so we can cross as soon as possible.”
Tikaya hesitated. Maybe she had guessed incorrectly. Yet he had never lost his temper with her, and it was hard to imagine a midday bath truly irking him.
“Please?”
Rias’s head drooped. He stood, gave Sicarius instructions, and finally faced her. Tikaya led him out of the assassin’s earshot.
Rias stared at the ground, avoiding her eyes. She was about to speak, but he did so first.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I wasn’t expecting you to be, ah...”
She resisted the urge to hug him—that would probably make him more uncomfortable—and gripped his forearm instead. Corded muscle lay beneath her hand. “I don’t mind. You can stare.” Though so many differences stood between them, she could not feel anything but delighted that he would want to.
Rias lifted his eyes. “Oh? I had the impression that your parents wouldn’t approve of Fleet Admiral Starcrest ogling their daughter.”
“They’re not here.”
He arched his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were particularly enamored at the notion either. Something about a nation’s war enemies not being easily inserted into dreams involving beach houses and blond children.”
She blushed. “Originally, I was rather distraught at the dishevelment of my dreams, but I must admit I can’t think of anyone else in the world I’d rather have ogling me.”
“Really.” His eyes gleamed with humor but intensity too. He brushed his fingers down a lock of damp hair dangling by her cheek.
Tikaya considered the construction site and the assassin who, through tact or disinterest, was ignoring them. “Almost private around here at the moment.” She arched her eyebrows and stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. “I haven’t figured out which piece of furniture up there is a bed, but I’m willing to conduct research.”
“I wouldn’t think it’d be a problem. You found the tub after all.” Rias slid his arm around her, drawing her against him.
“Actually, that’s an aquarium.”
She felt the soft rumble of laughter in his chest, but it ended with a sigh. She tilted her head back, searching his face.
“Trust me, I’d very much like to research the furniture with you, but...” He smiled and brushed his thumb along her lips. “I suppose it’d be rather irresponsible of me.”
She barely managed to avoid blurting ‘huh?’ Instead, she guessed, “Because you’re supposed to be building a, er, whatever that is you’re building?”
Rias snorted. “Rust what I’m building—and it’s a counterweight trebuchet, by the way.” His inability to dismiss his project without at least a short explanation almost made her laugh, despite her confusion over the rejection.
“I’m aware of what is, and what isn’t, included in a standard Turgonian field kit,” Rias went on, “and I wouldn’t want to put you in the awkward situation of explaining to your family how you came to be pregnant with an enemy admiral’s child.”
“Oh.” She laughed with relief. He wasn’t rejecting her.
Rias frowned at her reaction. “Tikaya, I know what the world believes about Turgonians, and the Kyattese have every reason to think the worst of me. I fear that if you intimate that we’re even friends, your people will believe I’ve tortured and brainwashed you into giving that response.”
He looked exasperated that his words didn’t drive the grin from her face, and his concern touched her.
“What you say may be true,” Tikaya said, “but that’s something to worry about after we both get out of here alive. As for the other, getting pregnant wouldn’t be possible until I returned home to see one of our doctors to have the...” She groped for words to explain it in Turgonian—as far as she knew, their women took their chances drinking egata tea for contraceptive purposes. “It’s a procedure, performed by a doctor—who is, in our culture, a practitioner specializing in the psychological and somatic aspects of the mental sciences. Anyway, it’s not irreversible. You just go see the doctor again when you want to have children.”
During her explanation, his expression changed from consternated to perplexed to enlightened. “There is no...danger?”
“No. After certain incidents during the war, it was recommended by our government that any women at risk of being captured have it done.”
His face darkened. “Were there many? ‘Incidents?’”
“I was sheltered by the fact that I never left the island, but from the folks who went out, I heard...there were some ships you really didn’t want to find yourself aboard.”
“I see.” His jaw was tight, body rigid. “I’d ask for the names of those ships, but there’s nothing I could do now. It’s hard to know—I don’t mean to make excuses, but men present a vastly different face to their superiors than they do to their prisoners.”
“I doubt you ever did.”
He grimaced, apparently not in the mood for praise, and she wished she had never brought up the subject. Except, she reminded herself, that bringing it up meant disavowing him of the notion that he could send her home a mother. Which actually was not a horrifying concept, though he was right in that it would be easier to deal with further down the line. Still, a smile curled her lips at the thought of a passel of precocious toddlers scurrying around the house, getting into mischief and cutting down heirloom fruit trees to build play forts.
“What are you thinking of?” Rias’s muscles relaxed as he watched her.
“Furniture research.” She rose on her tiptoes, marveling that h
er eyes still weren’t level with his, and kissed him.
Her explanations resulted in one pleasant outcome: he did not hesitate to return it.
The moment ended abruptly. Rias pulled away, annoyance flickering across his face. Before she could ask why, she heard the clomp of boots. One of the squads of marines had returned.
“What, by the emperor’s eternal warts, is this mess?” Bocrest bellowed as soon as he entered the cavern and spotted the fledgling frame and the heaps of wood surrounding it.
Rias sighed and dropped his head on Tikaya’s shoulder.
“Tonight?” she suggested.
He released her with a hand squeeze and a promise in his eyes. Please don’t let monsters, machines, or annoying marines ruin the night, she thought.
“We need help, boys,” Rias called. “Grab a hammer.”
“About this catapult...” Tikaya said, a question occurring to her as her gaze skimmed the chasm.
“Counterweight trebuchet,” Rias said.
“Yes, of course. How will one land without breaking every bone in her body?”
“Parachutes, naturally.” Rias help up a finger. “That reminds me.” He turned to holler at the approaching men. “Anyone who isn’t able to find a hammer and work on this is on sewing duty.”
Without glancing at the captain, the marines hustled over, prepared to dive into the construction work to avoid a stitching task. Chuckling, Tikaya returned to the second-story retreat to examine the sphere that had piqued her interest earlier.
18
The sphere proved amazing. With the journal’s help, she deciphered the runes on the outside, which were a proclamation of ownership and instructions for firing it up. Once she did that, a hole smaller than a grain of sand projected a display above the sphere. It appeared solid but she could wave her fingers through it as with an illusion. Plenty of practitioners who studied optics could make them, but she could not fathom how it was done with technology. She did not care either. It was the images and runes within the three-dimensional display that enraptured her. She found herself reading someone’s diary, and she could look up symbols and terms she did not understand, as if a dictionary and encyclopedia underlaid the journal. This was the type of artifact every philologist dreamed of finding, something that held the keys to unlocking an entire language. She marveled that the other team had left it. Maybe they had not been up here, or maybe they had not realized what they passed up.
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 39
