“What. Did. She. Say.”
Sela folded her arms. The intoxicating flush from moments before had dissolved in a tide of acrid fury.
Erelah took a wobbling step into the cramped loft. The blanket caught the edge of the hatchway and slipped from her shoulder. She did not seem to notice. Something that cared only for pain and cold dwelled in those odd-colored eyes. It was like a wraith, too large for this Erelah-suit and as a consequence, it was barely contained and badly concealed.
How could Jon not see?
“I told my brother he contaminates himself by touching you, breeder. You are beneath him.” Erelah bared a mocking, pale-lipped smile.
In one swift move, Sela darted around her captain’s barring arm. One more step and she could hold the woman’s frail neck between her breeder’s fingers and squeeze until bones snapped. But she was stayed by his quiet words.
“Sela. Please.”
A dark amusement danced over the Erelah’s features, eerily carved by the lights of the nearby panel. She was fury masquerading as a frail young woman.
“Your breeder pet obeys, Captain Veradin. Good.”
He rounded on his sister and gripped her upper arms. “What’s happened to you? This is not like you. This is not how we were raised.”
Erelah’s head rocked back. Her mouth moved without sound. Then, suddenly, wide eyed, she looked around.
“Jon?” Her voice quivered. “What’s happening?”
Veradin pulled his sister into a fierce embrace, dismissing Sela with his back as he whispered words to the girl in their secret Eugenes language.
As Sela watched, anger nestled in her chest and gnawed at her cheated want.
---
A shame. What a waste of such a goddess. Ty standing in the half shadow, toes to the edge of the yellow line that marked the difference between compliance and severe punishment. Leaving her there each time, each interaction drawn out on purpose, finding excuses to touch her, always knowing nothing could come of it. Maybe it was in spite of the fact it was forbidden, but Fates, how he wanted her…
Erelah sat up in a twisted knot of bedding.
It was too vivid to call a dream. It was a bundle of thoughts, feelings. All belonging to Jon, she realized. It was not stealing a glimpse, like a dispassionate third party. It was as if for a moment she had dwelled in his secret heart and found it to be a sad, quiet world filled with regrets and half-actions when it came to Sela Tyron.
When had I seen that? She ran quivering hands through her hair.
The memory/thought about Commander Tyron had belonged to Jon. And now it imposed a confusing pattern over her own feelings toward the soldier. It was correct to say she harbored a healthy wariness of Tyron that bordered on fear. Working mostly with Fleet, Erelah had little interaction with Volunteers in her brief career with the Regime. To her they were dangerous beings bred for their murderous cunning, like spike hounds trained for guarding a great house. One respected their sleek and powerful design, but they were something you would hesitate to pet.
His pet. I called her his pet.
My voice. But not my thoughts.
A flood of hot-and-cold pinpricks danced over her scalp and receded down her neck. The murkiness of her memory dissolved as she recalled the murderous anger written in Tyron’s expression.
But it was not me. I had not said that.
“No,” she croaked. Tristic. It had been Tristic.
Her fingers pulled through her hair to dig at her scalp. Her head was full of hot sand that slithered and whispered:
/But you did say those things/
Tristic. It was as if she had always lived there.
/You will have no rest, no quarter here. Return to me./
With a whimper she curled onto her side, as if she could physically withdraw from the voice.
“Not there. You’re not there,” she said.
/End this torture. Return to me, Veradin. You shall be forgiven, lovely child./
“Not there,” Erelah said, more firmly this time. She squeezed her eyes shut.
She felt her: Tristic. Stooping over her, pressing so closely she could detect the faintest waft of water jasmine. All she needed to do was open her eyes, turn her head just so and she would look upon that grotesque face.
Firm hands seized her shoulders. Erelah screeched. It echoed in the flat metal of the small room.
Jon knelt beside her. His face filled with pity. Fates. It was as bad as she feared.
“Jon.” Erelah lunged to embrace him.
He staggered back with a chuckle. “Easy. Easy. Take it easy on your ancient brother.”
Although his words were meant to be jovial, she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. A shadow of beard sprouted from his firm jaw line.
“Were you dreaming?” he asked.
Oh how I wish.
“Yes.” Her voice seemed to have traveled from far away. “Bad dreams.”
Jon moved to touch her arm. But she drew back. “Erelah, this will be hard for you, but we must talk. I need to understand what’s going on. What’s happened to you?”
/Tell him. He will think you mad./
“It’s all jumbled.”
“Try.” His expression became an unconscious imitation of Uncle. Was this what his soldiers saw when they gave answers he did not like? Then the hardness in his stare dissolved. She saw the brave boy who had defended her from all manner of imagined childhood dangers.
“You won’t believe me.”
Pity resurfaced in his gaze. “I will. Tell me.”
“Uncle told us lies, Jon. We were raised to believe lies.”
His face churned with doubt.
/See? It is as I said./
But she pressed on, trying her best to ignore the echo of Tristic’s voice in her head.
“Uncle was too clever. He found a way to trick everyone. Our genetics were altered. Just enough. It was all just in case. He never intended for us to leave Argos, and certainly never meant for you to join the Regime...”
“Erelah…” It was a weary sigh. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“We are Human.”
Jon sat back, eyes narrowed on her. “How do you know that?”
Her chin quivered under new tears. “Because it’s the truth.”
He drew a hand along the back of his neck. “This is madness.”
“I swear by Miri, Jon. You have to believe me.” She spoke with such sudden ferocity that he recoiled
“I believe you, Erelah.” His voice was quiet, defeated.
Relief fluttered in her chest. “You do?”
“Back on Newet, Uncle left a message for us in the crypt. He explained what he did and what we really are. And then he asked our forgiveness.” Jon paused. “Erelah, how did you know you’d find me there?”
“I didn’t. I just… wanted to be with Uncle.” Her voice cracked. Newet had been the only place she could think to go in the end. That much surfaced from the hectic riot of images in her memory. “If I was going to die, I wanted to be with him.”
“Baby sister, you’re safe here now,” he said softly. There was such guilt in his eyes.
I brought that guilt. That is mine to bear.
“This is all my fault.” Erelah whispered. “You were right. I should have stayed on Argos. None of this would have happened.”
She doubted Jon heard. His stare was set, focused on a riddle that he was not mad enough to solve. “It just doesn’t make sense. If the truth about us was discovered, then why the secrecy? Why not declare our Kindred renegade and kill us both?”
“Because that wasn’t her plan,” she said quietly.
“Who’s plan?”
The words came from her in a rush, staggered by sobs. “It’s why she wants me. Because she could use me. I was perfectly imperfect and I was right there. I should have stayed on Argos.”
Fates, I even think I sound crazy.
He moved to her side. “Who, Erelah? Is this who held you captive? The marks on your w
rists are from restraints…”
She hesitated to use the Defensor’s name. It would be like conjuring a demon. There was power in her name. It could stir the thing awake in her head.
/Go on. Tell him./
“Defensor Tristic.”
“Who is that?”
/Your salvation from this torture, Erelah./
Stop it. Go away!
“She wants to wear me… to become me.”
Jon sat back. He cradled her face in his hands. The torment in his face twisted her heart. “You’re scaring me, Erelah.”
“I’m scared too,” she whispered, pulling away from his touch.
/You will know fear far worse than this./
18
There was a time as a booter when Sela had dreamed of being a stryker pilot. But she grew too tall. It was apparent that she had been designed for something different. Now she considered it a childish fantasy, but she still possessed the indelible memories about basic stryker design schematics and flight control layouts. If there was something out of place, she would notice.
Carefully, she studied the metal belly beneath the wing. The body of the stryker was noticeably wider at the back than a typical model seven. The propulsion access casing was definitely an odd shape. It had no visible release, which meant that the access latch was probably activated from the cockpit.
With a sigh, she straightened, walked to the front of the vessel and climbed onto the wing. Thus far her approach to examine each of the systems of the stryker had been beyond frustrating. She did not relish another fight with the stryker’s compsys. It was not possible for a piece of tech to convey emotion, but this one was plainly arrogant.
She sank into the charred plastic stink of the open cockpit and focused furiously at the panel, looking for the propulsion casing release activation. This was likely to be another stalemate.
“Voice interface,” she said with very little faith.
“Verified,” responded the clipped synthetic voice in Regimental. So far so good.
“Standby for new instructional parameters.”
A long pause this time. “Active.”
“Display instructions for propulsion casing release.”
“Propulsion access restricted. Primary access clearance is required.”
She sighed. “What is required for primary access?”
There was an even longer pause, plainly meant to lull her into a false sense of hope, before the stryker computer replied.
“Information restricted. Primary access clearance required. Security lock out engaged.”
Sela fought the urge to hit something. “I really hate you.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Veradin called, descending the stairs that led to the bay.
At the sound of his voice, her back straightened. Feeling her face grow hot, Sela did not turn to look at him. An awkward mix of embarrassment and anger from the encounter in the command loft still clung to her.
“There is a twenty-three percent variation on the energy demand reads, even when the stryker is in cold mode,” she answered. “I felt it necessary to investigate promptly.”
That meant an as-yet undiscovered system was still active, despite the vessel’s sleeping appearance. Sela feared it was a transmitter beacon or something similar that could bring an Enforcement squad straight to them. But in order to be sure, she needed access to each of the systems. The vessel’s navsys thought differently, of course.
“Erelah said we would find no trackers or surveillance devices,” he said.
Sela prodded blindly beneath the center console. Perhaps there was a manual override latch she had missed.
The silence pulled into a tense current.
Behind her, Veradin slipped into the jumpseat.
He leaned over her shoulder. “You don’t trust her.”
Sela swallowed her reply. She trusted instinct. Right now it told her there was a threat housed in the otherwise weak-looking body of his sister. How to explain it without sounding mad herself was another issue.
“Ty, it’s obvious she’s suffered some sort of trauma. Just look at her. Miri knows what she’s been through.”
That didn’t begin to cover it.
She heard him shift in the space behind her, experimentally tapping at powered-down console controls. His actions were useless. None of the instrumentation could be coaxed into operating until she found a way to access the non-cooperative comp-sys.
“Your intimacy with her is a liability.” Sela granted him her profile. “It colors your perception.”
The sounds of his activity stopped. He grabbed the sides of her seat and swiveled it around so that she faced him.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you preaching Decca to me, Ty?” he asked, frowning. “Now… of all times?”
“No, sir. Just… I believe that she may represent a threat.” She gave a half-shrug. “One you’re not prepared to acknowledge.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowned. But there was something else there, just beneath the surface. Was it fear? “What did she say to you, Ty?”
Your sister brought something with her. Something insidious, darkly intelligent.
But that did sound mad. There was no real proof. Was there? Only instinct.
“How did she know to find us at Newet?” Sela countered, instead.
With that, Jon flinched. He looked down, swallowing. In a quiet, hurt voice, he answered: “She told me that she went there to die.”
Sela watched him in silence, tempted to reach out and caress that dark head of hair and utter useless words of comfort, as she had watched him do for Erelah.
“Fates, Ty. The answers she gives make no sense. The madness that she speaks when she is awake…” He sat back, raking hands down his face. “She’s not… right. That person you saw in the command loft, that’s not her. We weren’t raised to think that way. Words like ‘breeder’ were forbidden in our house.”
“I’ve been called worse, sir.”
“She acts as if she is … possessed.” He sighed.
Sela bit her lip, guilty with vindication.
“It’s my fault. Uncle made it plain that it was my duty to look after her. But I left her behind when the Regime came to Argos, looking for recruits. I think I did it just because Uncle forbade me to go.”
His gazed turned to some tormented interior horizon. “I thought I was going to restore the Veradin Kindred honor. Become some great leader. I didn’t understand a damned thing.
“Uncle disowned me, told me never to return. Told me that I would only bring Erelah grief if I tried to contact her. So I stayed away… for years. Then Uncle died. Next thing I know, I’m getting a trans from her. She’s standing there looking so proud of herself in that damned Fleet uniform. Only a consultant but still. I yelled at her, told her how stupid she was. That was the last time I’d talked to her before … all of this.”
“You didn’t know this was going to happen, sir,” Sela said, then winced. It sounded so useless.
“I’m sorry, Ty. For everything.”
“You keep saying that, sir. Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”
“It’s my fault that you’re here. I got you wrapped up in something I don’t even understand.” He touched her face. “But you have to understand, no matter what happens… what comes next: I meant what I said to you in the command loft.”
It’s always been you.
He was waiting for her to say something in response. But what? Words clotted in her throat. How could he not read her mind as he always seemed to?
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Inwardly she flinched at the tremble in her voice. That was not the way a soldier sounded. But this was an alien realm for her. Frightening in a completely unnamable way. “What do you want from me, sir?”
“No. Stop that. No more ‘sir’ or ‘captain,’” he said with sudden forcefulness. “We trust each other, Sela. Right now. Or we’re all
dead.”
“I trust you with my life.”
“I’ve never doubted that, Ty.” The sternness in his expression evaporated. “I pray to Miri that I truly deserve that from you.”
“You do. Why wouldn’t you?” she frowned, placing her hand over his.
He drew in breath as if to speak, but halted. Something like fear surfaced in his eyes.
“What is it?” she urged.
“Jon!” The hoarse screech crawled down from the crew quarters and into the bay.
Erelah. Of course.
Cursed with the same poor sense of timing as her sibling, it seemed.
“I should check on her.” His hand dropped away. The moment folded back onto itself. “Continue your search of the stryker. Let me know what you find.”
Sela watched him climb from the cockpit and head back up the stairs.
---
When Sela found him in the galley, Veradin—Jon—was sitting, shoulders hunched in one of the tortuously hard plastic benches bolted to the floor. Steam curled from an ignored cup of hot insta-cal at his elbow. He wore an odd mix of a black close-fitting shirt and utilities. Sela could not recall ever seeing him in casual attire. Judging from the expression on his face, he looked far from relaxed.
Although his gaze was directed at the portal, she doubted he was watching the drift of stars in the blackness beyond. The Cass had been placed in a semi-dormant mode to conserve on resources. A-grav remained on the only system at full, chiefly because only Sela had training to function in low or zero grav.
Neither of them was capable of coming up with a safe destination. Without a reliable nav charts, Jon had used his best guess on his knowledge of Fleet battlegroups in this sector. They were now on a course that presently drew them farther out into less populated regions, problematically further from reliable flex points.
“The stryker is a dead end,” Sela announced. “Other than the fact that the stryker’s chrono is six hours behind core standard, I got nowhere. The compsys locked me out after I triggered some sort of failsafe. Encrypted.”
“And good morning to you too, Ty.” He granted her a wry smile. The shadows beneath his eyes had worsened. “You didn’t sleep. Did you?”
“I’ve slept enough, I think.” Sela replied, taking the bench across the table from him.
Allies and Enemies: Fallen Page 15
