She worked her mouth, trying to get the vowels to sound. “Wait,” she said, although it came out as a garbled cough.
The door opened automatically, Halud pausing in its silhouette.
There weren’t words. They’d all escaped her head.
He smiled sadly. “It’s going to be okay now. I’m going to keep you safe this time.”
The door sealed behind him, Sarrin staring wide-eyed at the spot where he had stood. The edges of her vision grew fuzzy again, as an unfamiliar conglomeration of thoughts coursed through her head. Above them all: worry. It wasn’t her that needed to be kept safe.
* * *
Gal fell into his chair. His pulse whooshed in his veins, thready and uncertain. His back ached. On his desk laid the overturned photo frame, facedown so Aaron couldn’t see him, not like this.
The scene in the cargo bay played over and over like a bad vid.
It was a minute before he had the strength to reach down and slide the Jin-Jiu from the drawer. The half-full bottle slid into the warmer with a satisfying plop.
The old tin mug fit in his hand, so familiar it felt a part of him. His face reflected, warped and twisted in the dented metal. The image changed as the cup spun, but it was never right.
He shut his eyes and convinced himself none of it was happening before he pulled the bottle from the warmer.
The door buzzed. The cracked old ship didn’t even wait for him to grunt before it opened.
“Did you override my door?”
“No, I…,” said Rayne. She huffed nervously — overriding a superior’s door was a major offence to, unless, o course, you were commanded by the Gods. “I knew you wouldn’t open it.”
He slid down in his chair.
She pulled the bottle from his hand. “This is hardly the time.” It went out of sight, tucked behind the desk as she sat. “This is our chance to prove ourselves in the eyes of the Gods, Gal.” A smile — a real smile — played across her features, and his heart softened in her radiance. It was the most animated he had seen her in a long time. Youthful almost, vibrant.
He had thought it was just time, age that had made her change, but maybe she had been losing hope too. But now he could see the hope, big-H Hope, in her eyes. The corner of his mouth tugged up.
“The Poet —.”
His heart seized, throwing him back. “No, not the Poet!” The blue eyes, the long grey cloak flapping the cargo bay haunted him, tearing apart whatever hopefulness his mind had managed to conjure.
“He’s humanity’s greatest asset. His path is the God’s Path. Our part is easy. We just have to —.”
“Rayne!”
“What?”
He threw his head back, shaking out the swimming feeling. “Give me my bottle. You can’t keep it from me.”
“We’re on a mission for the Gods.”
“No we’re not.” He knew it, plain as day.
“Gal!”
“Rayne.” He rubbed his temples, his sigh turning into a shout.
“You’re a United Central Army captain.”
“Not anymore.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“The Poet.” He shut his eyes as whispers rocketed around his head, coming from the desk — from the photo frame. “Please, Rayne, I don’t want to do this. I need that bottle.”
“The Poet came here for you. He needs your help.”
“I won’t.” The girl had made Gal’s blood run cold, but he was wrong. Had to be. “Maybe there’s still a way out of this.”
“Then you don’t have to do anything to help him. I will. Until you’re ready.” She leaned forward. “Whatever happened before, it’s in the past. The only thing we can do is look to the future. The Gods say it is so.”
He groaned. “Enough about the Gods.”
“The Gods are good. Why won’t you take this chance?”
“Hap Lansford didn’t send the Poet. And if he did, we’re in worse trouble than I thought.”
She stilled.
“Think, Rayne. We don’t know anything about the Poet’s mission.”
“It’s not for us to know. Faith allows us to trust as we follow the Path.”
He loved her, but the way she regurgitated litanies at hime made his skin crawl, and he scratched at his arms. “No one sent the Poet! He’s out here on his own.”
“You don’t know that. You told me you went to school with the First Speaker, that he was a friend. He knows you the way I do: a good and honourable man. If there was ever a mission of this importance, I would send you. Every time.”
The whispers started again. “I’m not good.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not honourable.”
She leaned forward, eyes burning. “Yes.”
“Stop it, Rayne.”
“Gal! Let me help you.”
“Hap Lansford spared my life once. He promised not to do it again. The Gods have left me, the same as they’ve left the Poet. I’m sorry, Rayne, but the Poet’s on a cracked mission. That’s the truth.”
“It isn’t. One day you’ll see.”
“What happened to the peaceful haul? We could do it, just you and me. We’d be together, no hassle, no worry. Just freight. From Etar to Selousa and back. Please. I’ll stop drinking.”
She bit her bottom lip, eyes soft. But her face hardened as she dismissed the idea. “Gal, we can’t. This is our Path. The Poet has come here for us. For you. Don’t you see it? You’re not meant to be ferrying freight.”
But he was. It was so much safer. That’s what he was meant for, it couldn’t be more clear.
A single, little brown hand waved from behind the desk.
“Gal?”
His eyes grew wide, staring at the hand, and he blinked rapidly.
Another hand appeared, and another. Too small to be human.
He stood, leaning over the desk, too perplexed to look away.
The hands continued down to bodies. Shrivelled and grey-brown. Their faces featureless, eyes hollow. Hundreds of them. They cheered when they saw him.
He rubbed his fists into his eyes. The vision didn’t clear. Instead, they rubbed their eyes too and cheered.
He fell back into his chair, hand over his gaping mouth.
“Gal?” Rayne repeated, her voice turning shrill.
Apparitions stood behind her.
“I know you’ve lost your way.” Wide eyed, she pleaded with him. “I know things have been hard, but believe me when I say you deserve more. You are more.”
The demons climbed the desk, standing atop it, waving. They too placed their hands over their mouths in perfect mimicry.
“Stop it,” he grumbled.
“It’s true, Gal. Why else would I stay out here this long?”
More climbed the desk.
“I see now that it was my Path. I chose to stay for you.”
“Stop!” His hand swept across the desk. It passed through the grey-brown figures, knocking the photo frame across the room.
Rayne jumped back. “Gal!” A creature stood on her shoulder, its little hands dug into her perfectly neat hair.
“Where is the Jin-Jiu?” he demanded. There had to be a way to make this stop.
“You don’t need it.”
Long drowned memories were surfacing. He couldn’t let them. “Yes, I do.” He tried to clear the desk again, the visions jumping over his arms as it passed.
“Gal, calm down.”
He roared as he tried to catch one, slamming his fists into the desk.
Rayne gasped. “Whatever demons have possessed you. Galiant!”
“No, no, no,” he screamed. He caught one of them in his hand.
It had scraggly clumps of hair, its skin melting from it’s bones. The eyes and mouth were nothing but dark, hollow holes.
A demon.
It grabbed him and shook his hand, talons digging into the flesh.
He threw it across the room. It crumpled against the wall, lifeless.
; Rayne looked back at him, eyes wide. The demon standing on her shoulder clutched where his heart might have been and fell, limp, smacking on the grey carpet floor.
The others, one by one, all crumpled and died, falling on each other in a wave.
Dead bodies. Dead bodies everywhere.
He had killed them.
And they were multiplying. Bodies on top of bodies. They were endless. Soon he would be drowned.
Bodies. Bodies. Bodies.
He waded, knee-deep, and then waist-deep, through the wreckage, trying to get out from around his desk, but it was no use. He stared at Rayne, unable to reach her as the bodies piled up around them.
Hundreds of faceless men and women.
From across the room, Aaron stared at him from the charcoal drawing.
They had all followed him and he had turned them into demons and killed them.
Rayne had followed him. She thought she was out here for good, for the Gods.
He met her eyes again, terrified, shaking. He had to make sure she was safe, whatever it took. That was all he could do now.
* * *
“The commander found these for you.”
Sarrin took the pile of folded jumpsuits from Halud. The fabric was dark grey and worn in the knees — the uniforms had belonged to somebody, but there weren’t any holes and the sleeves were long.
He set two steaming bowls on the little desk in the corner of the room. It was not normal meal-time, but her stomach rumbled the same.
Her muscles tensed as she felt his eyes following her.
“It’s okay, Sarrin.” He smiled at her again. “Standard rations.”
She took the chair, her mind turning. It flipped back, to a place she knew but didn’t recognize: An extraordinarily tall man stared down at her, and she craned her neck to look back at him. The man’s usually jovial expression was drawn with worry, and it made her want to weep. He turned his attention to a boy: Halud.
“Your mother isn’t well,” said the man. “You have to go.”
The boy whined.
“Promise me you will run. Trust no one but each other. Stay hidden. There’s no telling what will happen.” The man glanced up, a hovercraft working its way silently through the sky. “Go! Go now!” The man pushed Halud away, then took Sarrin by the shoulders and spun her around.
Halud raced across the open field, beckoning for her to follow him into the cover of trees.
“Sarrin! Sarrin!”
She gasped as Halud’s touch in the little cabin brought her back to the present. He was yelling, gesturing wildly. “It’s too hot! Sarrin! Sarrin!”
Her hands were clenched around the bowl of steaming soup, an odd sizzle-sound and accompanying the smell of melting flesh. She pulled her hands away quickly and assessed: second degree burns. It didn’t hurt, it never did. She flexed her left hand, watching with mild curiosity. The burns were already blistering.
Halud peered at her hands, quickly turning away. He stifled a sick groan.
She clenched her hands, hiding them from him. The burns would be gone in a matter of hours.
“What were you thinking?” He stood, reaching for her. “We have to get you to the infirmary.”
Sarrin shook her head — it would bring up too many questions, and it was entirely unnecessary. Hesitantly, she held out her hand, holding it so he would have to look.
His sickness turned to fascination. “It’s already healing. How?” He reached to touch her hand, but she snatched it away.
He sat back in his chair. “I don’t understand, did you not feel the burning?”
She turned away. Her heart raced, and she felt herself slipping, darkness clouding in. She grabbed the table, clinging to something real, tangible.
Halud finished talking as she came back to herself. He paused and looked at her expectantly.
She stared intently at the soup. She could feel Halud looking at her. Every noise and variance in the light threatened to overwhelm her — too much stimulus, too much new information. The distant sound of the engines, slightly misaligned, almost threw her into the trance.
She forced the soup into her belly as fast as possible.
After the meal, she showered as best as she remembered how, and changed into the borrowed coveralls. The grey uniform was too big but at least it was clean. There were an additional thirty-four items in the bathroom that could be used as lethal weapons. A terrifying prospect.
Halud beckoned for her to sleep on the bed. It wasn’t very big, but he intended to share. Maybe they had done that once, when they were small, but she couldn’t remember. She curled on the floor, assuming the standard sleeping position taught to her before she could even remember.
She felt him looking, waited tensely for him to roll back over, and his breathing to slow.
He fell asleep almost immediately.
Sarrin, however, laid awake, forcing her body to be still.
Her mind started to sort through the jumble. She assessed her tactical situation, which she noted was the best it had been in a long time: she was free; her brother was here; they were on a ship; someone was going to hide them; and maybe, just maybe, she could escape it.
She glanced at her hands in the darkened room — shiny new skin where blisters were an hour before.
The Gods would guide her. She touched her fingers to her chest and then her head. I believe in the power of Faith, and Knowledge, Prudence, Strength, and Fortitude. I want this to end. Please let it end.
She opened her fingers and imagined the words floating up to the stars.
Sleep would not come tonight.
Sighing, she swung her legs under her, and slipped soundlessly from the room.
* * *
Kieran stood in Engineering, staring at the displays. He plugged the diagnostic probes into the engine and started another deep scan. His gut told him to be worried, something felt off and he couldn’t figure out what.
The ship sat in the middle of empty space. He pulled up a star chart on the 3D display, and started studying it, hoping he might recognize the system and be able to determine their location. Lord knew he’d seen enough star systems.
The Poet had ordered him to take them to Contyna. But with the navigator and the mathematician left behind at Selousa, it was up to him to figure out where they were before he plotted their course.
The jump coils in the gravity drive generated a pulse of gravitons, strong enough to bend the fabric of space. A tunnel formed and the ship moved through it almost instantaneously. The stronger the coil and the longer the pulse, the farther they went with each jump. Simple.
What was not simple was aiming the tunnel, folding together the right sections of space. The mathematicians had a complex set of formulas to figure it out. But the girl had jumped them without any plotted course, and working the calculations in reverse for the untrackable jump….
He sighed, rubbing his palms into his eyes. They couldn’t have gone more than 6,270 parsecs — because that was the ship’s max. Problem was, it could be 6,270 parsecs in any direction from Selousa. They could be anywhere on the probability sphere he drew on the holographic display, and there wasn’t so much as a debris cluster on the sensors to help mark their position.
It would be a long night.
Not that he’d give it up for anything. Finally something interesting for his research.
The engineering bay felt unnaturally quiet. Standard crew complement included a staff of eight, but they had been on planet with the navigator and mathematician. Only by sheer coincidence had he still been on the ship, trying to figure out a benign rattle that had come up in the engine part-way between Etar and Selousa.
He missed home something fierce, especially his Mama and his brother Andy. And his dad who taught him everything he knew about engines. His mission away from home had been nearly worthless, until the Poet and that girl showed up.
It didn’t matter if they really were on some secret mission for the Speakers like they said, or running, or plannin
g to take down the entire organization. At least it was something to do. What could they possibly be doing? Running from? How had they ended up on the old freightship? And what was the warship Comrade doing all the way out at Selousa when it was scheduled for training drills halfway across the sector?
The girl walked in. He nearly missed her, bare feet floating silently across the floor. Borrowed coveralls hung off her like an ill-fitting sack, but his keen eyes still picked up a subtle favouring of the left leg. Her wrists rubbed together and across her forearms, hands held out strangely.
He held his breath, observing, trying to glean as much information about her as possible before she saw him. People were only themselves when they were alone. And he considered it his mission now, more than anything, to figure out who she was.
She padded along the far wall, sticking to shadows as she moved towards the engine room. Her face looked tired, eyes sunk in and cheekbones hollow. She also looked mostly starved to death.
What had happened before she came running aboard their ship?
He crept towards the engine room so he could continue to observe her.
Her entire forearm trailed along the engine casing, caressing. She leaned into the humming machine, her features softening.
At once, her frame went rigid, lips tightening. She pressed her ear to the engine. Her eyes opened and looked straight at him.
He gasped involuntarily, caught and frozen in her glare.
Her eyes raked him up and down, as he held his breath. She tapped once at the engine, and tapped again, impatient.
“What?” he gasped.
Opening and closing her mouth, she knitted her eyebrows together. She pointed to the engine again.
He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. “You think there’s something wrong with the engine?”
A single eyebrow raised, and she nodded.
“Yeah, me too,” he said. “I’ve got the scans running on ‘er now.”
She pressed both arms against the casing, shoulders coming up and down as she breathed deeply.
His training reasserted itself, and he remembered she was a person just like any other subject. No reason to be so nervous, except his heart felt ready to beat out of his chest. “Hey-there,” he put on his best friendly tone, and extended a hand, “I’m Kieran. We didn’t get to meet properly —.”
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