Red Sky in the Morning (The Covenant of the Rainbow Book 1)

by Elana Brooks

  Adrian hadn’t expected anything different. “All right. Let’s go.”

  As Miheel sank though the base of the tank toward the floor, Adrian remembered something. “Fereel. I killed him several hours ago. Are the tanks monitored? Will his death have been noticed yet?” They obviously hadn’t known the Seraph was dead when Adrian reported in from the guard shift. If they had, his mission would have ended right then. He should have taken that possibility into account. Back home, the guardians would know of his death as soon as it happened. Well, four hours later, anyway.

  Miheel paused. “The tanks are checked every ten days. This deck’s last inspection was six days ago. You should have four more days, as long as you show up for Fereel’s guard shifts. Of course, after that it will become known that everything Fereel did since the time of his death was actually done by an impostor.”

  “That should be long enough to accomplish what I need to,” Adrian said grimly. Since he couldn’t hope to keep his presence secret once Fereel’s dead body was discovered, maybe after he’d made contact with all three of Gabeel’s friends he should attempt some spectacular sabotage of the ship. He’d most likely fail, and would certainly be caught, but that would provide a plausible reason for him being there, diverting suspicion away from Miheel and the others. The most important thing was that their treason remain undiscovered. Assuming the others joined Miheel in agreeing to help the Covenant.

  Adrian shifted into cloud form and followed Miheel into the floor.

  Adrian drifted behind Miheel through yet another corridor full of off-duty Seraphim, trying to act as much like the haughty Fereel as he could manage. Miheel had changed his normal maroon and gray striped pattern into a mottled purple. They’d been searching for Rafeel for over an hour, and Adrian was starting to get worried they wouldn’t find the Seraph before the shift was over.

  Ahead, Miheel stiffened. Adrian peered past him, hoping to see the white-speckled green hide Miheel had described. Instead, he spotted three enormous Seraphim, far larger than any others he’d seen. They floated in a tight cluster, glowering around them with self-important hostility.

  Order Police. Miheel had described them and how to react to their presence. They were Eff-castes, so all lower castes were expected to veil to them, answer questions with prompt deference, and follow orders with unquestioning obedience.

  Adrian halted when Miheel did and followed his lead in covering his eyes with his upper fins. The Order Police swept by, raking the clusters of cowering Seraphim with their eyes.

  Just as Adrian thought they were going to escape notice, the Seraph in the rear halted. “Dineel!” he barked.

  Beside Adrian, Miheel bowed lower, then straightened. “Yes, sir?”

  The Seraph chortled. “What are you doing out of your computer cubicle? I thought nothing could drag you away from that stupid boring game you favor.”

  Miheel fluttered his fins. “Fereel invited me to join him in the gambling lounge, sir.”

  “Looking for new marks to fleece, eh, Fereel?” The Seraph turned to Adrian.

  Adrian bent his body into a deep curve. “Yes, sir.”

  The Seraph laughed. “Watch out for him, Dineel. Fereel’s already got enough credits to claim a thousand acres of our new world. If you’re not careful, he’ll clean you out and leave you stuck in an Eek camp.”

  “Yes, sir.” Miheel didn’t look up.

  With another laugh, the Seraph swept off. “Carry on,” he called behind him.

  All around Adrian, Seraphim unveiled and continued toward their destinations. Miheel moved forward with quick, jerky twitches of his tail. A flick of one middle fin signaled Adrian to move beside him.

  When Adrian’s head was close, Miheel murmured, “They’ll be watching to make sure we really do go into the gambling lounge and play for a while. I’ll coach you. But we can’t stay long. When they get to the computer cubicles and find Dineel still there, they’re going to realize something’s wrong.”

  Damn. Was he going to be caught with so little accomplished? But Adrian had little choice but to follow Miheel’s lead. As long as he could shield Miheel from discovery, his mission wouldn’t have been in vain. “All right.”

  Miheel turned into the next open doorway. Clusters of Seraphim thronged the space. Miheel gestured with a fin, keeping his voice low. Adrian had to strain to hear over the clamor of other voices. “Since deceleration restored gravity to the ship, a number of gambling games that were impossible during the millennia of flight have become very popular.”

  Adrian tried to look at the tables they passed while not being obvious about it. At one, Seraphim telekinetically swirled dozens of tiny blue, yellow and black pyramids, then released them onto a surface marked with geometric shapes. At another, gold spheres tumbled inside a wire cage that astral fins batted into the air and let fall. He could easily picture the games being played by tourists in a Vegas casino.

  Miheel murmured again. “Games of pure chance are favored by those of low castes who wish to compete on an equal basis against members of higher castes. Between those of the same caste, like Fereel and Dineel, games which require some skill are more popular. Fereel was an expert in stonefall.” He headed to a cluster near the edge of the room. “Just watch what the others are doing and copy them. It’s simple enough.”

  Before Adrian could express any doubts, Miheel butted between two of the Seraphim gathered around a shallow circular well. His voice assumed a whiny tone. “Let us in! I want to quickly relieve Fereel of the twenty credits he’s foolishly wagered and get back to my game.”

  The other Seraphim exchanged knowing glances with each other and looked at Adrian. He did his best to convey smug confidence overlaid by false chagrin. He doubted his expressions and gestures were convincing, but apparently his telepathic projection of the appropriate emotions were enough to fool the others. He nodded to Miheel, then the rest. “I’m in no hurry to lose.”

  “You can have your turn when our game is over,” a green Seraph with yellow fins said. It focused back on the well. Inside, a number of dark, irregularly shaped, fist-sized polished stones rose from the deck and began to spin. “This is the last round.”

  Its opponent, a solid purple Seraph, turned its attention to a similar collection of lighter-colored stones. They spun into the air. For several long minutes both Seraphim stared at the whirling stones, maneuvering them around the ring in complex patterns Adrian could make no sense of.

  Abruptly one light stone dove for a shallow pit in the floor of the well. A dark stone zoomed in and knocked it aside, but another light stone zipped in and clinked into the pit. Simultaneously more stones rained toward other pits and either lodged within them or were deflected. When every stone had hit the ground and quit moving, both Seraphim relaxed, and a chorus of congratulations greeted the player who controlled the light stones, who had succeeded in dropping his stones into nearly two-thirds of the pits. A screen set into the wall of the well displayed numbers, which Adrian gathered from the commentary was the score, as well as the competitors’ winnings and losses.

  Miheel glared at Adrian. “Computer, register that Fereel has challenged Dineel to a ten round game. Fereel has wagered five credits at four-to-one odds against Dineel. I suppose you’ll want dark, as usual?”

  “Of course,” Adrian blustered, doing his best to mimic the arrogant manner Fereel had used in their encounter. He hoped he could telekinetically manipulate the stones well enough to fool them into believing that he was really the skilled Fereel. This game was all about finesse in the use of telekinesis; his raw power wouldn’t do him any good. But he wasn’t bad at control, so hopefully he’d be able to play well enough to maintain the charade, especially if Miheel could unobtrusively throw a few rounds.

  A chorus of Seraphim voices addressed the computer, registering their wagers. Most of them bet on Fereel. Adrian hoped their fear of the Order Police would be sufficient to rein in any retaliatory violence if he lost.

  Miheel glanced at h
im with showy impatience, but Adrian knew his look was really anxious. Adrian projected confidence. “Let’s play.”

  The light stones rose and spun, and he set the dark stones spinning in response. Would Fereel arrogantly attack first, or would he lure Dineel into making the first move and then obliterate him? Adrian opted for the latter strategy. Miheel dropped a stone toward a pit. Adrian sent one of his to knock it away. For several minutes the flurry of whirling, clashing stones absorbed all his attention. When they settled, he’d claimed seven pits to Miheel’s eight.

  Miheel feigned cautious pleasure. “Round two.” He lofted his stones into the air.

  Adrian gained skill with each round. His pulse raced and his breath quickened as he landed more and more stones in the pits. This would make a wonderful training game. He’d have to introduce it to the Covenant. Beverly would enjoy matching her control against his. He could compete with her more evenly than in energyball.

  He cursed under his breath as an unpredictable bounce sent one lopsided stone careening away from a pit he’d been sure he’d take. His supporters let out anxious whistles. None of them seemed suspicious, though—just concerned for their credits.

  As the stones came to rest in the eighth round, giving him a slight lead, Adrian caught a glimpse of one of the Order Police drifting into the room. He veiled with everyone else. The Seraph glanced at the computer display, nodded, and drifted out again. Adrian could barely keep from shaking with relief. They must not have checked in on the real Dineel yet. Inevitably they would, though. He and Miheel had to be finished with their game and out of here before then.

  He snatched up the stones with a show of contempt. “Let’s finish this. You’ll be wanting to go back to your nice safe game, won’t you?”

  “The sooner the better,” Miheel retorted. “Twenty credits richer.” He lofted his stones.

  “Hah.” Adrian sent a flurry of dark stones toward the pits. He was lucky; most of the bounces went where he wanted them, increasing his lead. Almost done. He glanced with mock arrogance and real pleasure at Miheel. “Take that, you weaklin—”

  He broke off, following Miheel’s meaningful gaze. Through the door of the gambling lounge he saw a green Seraph speckled with white moving down the corridor.

  Stopping the game before it was over would be a dead giveaway he wasn’t who he was pretending to be. He growled, “Quit trying to distract me,” and hunched over the well. “Play!”

  Miheel and Adrian raised the stones for their final round. Adrian no longer cared if he won; he only wanted to finish the game in a convincing manner. He slammed his stones into the pits, losing a few to awkward bounces, but obliterating Miheel’s probably intentionally feeble attempts at defense. Twelve of the fifteen pits were his. The computer displayed Fereel’s name and account balance, higher by five credits. The surrounding Seraphim cheered and congratulated him.

  Desperate to pursue Rafeel, Adrian turned his back on Miheel with a contemptuous flick of his lowest fins. “Go back to your computer, loser.”

  Shocked gasps from the spectators told him he’d blundered somehow. He glanced back at Miheel. The Seraph met his eyes with frantic worry before drawing himself up and shooting him a glare of outrage. “How dare you flick your lowfins at me as if I were no better than an Ess-caste! Withdraw the insult, or I’ll call the Order Police on you!”

  Oh, god, how would Fereel react? Assuming he’d been stupid enough to issue the insult in the first place? Adrian gambled on an attitude of haughty condescension. “How careless of me. Of course I meant no insult to your caste. Only to your play.”

  Was that enough to let Miheel relent while remaining in character? For a moment, as Miheel continued to bristle, Adrian feared it wasn’t.

  But then the Seraph curled his lip at him, baring needle-sharp teeth. “Perhaps I’ll let it pass as an error if you agree to meet me in the training arena. After I vaporize your head a few times you’ll remember I share your caste. Will you accompany me right now to register a time for our bout?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Adrian glared at Miheel and turned to sweep out of the gambling lounge at his side. They left behind mingled relief and disappointment that the conflict hadn’t escalated to a fight.

  “I’m sorry,” Adrian muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” Miheel muttered back. Beneath his words Adrian heard barely restrained frustration. “I had to react—no one would allow such an insult to pass; they’d lose all respect forever. I think we managed to be convincing. But please, try to pay better attention from now on.”

  He swam down the corridor and dove into the next doorway, Adrian close behind. Inside, the room was darkened. A crowd of Seraphim focused on a large screen. It displayed a scene which appeared to be set on their home world. A group of Seraphim argued passionately, although he couldn’t discern what the subject of their conflict was. He wondered if it was a documentary or a drama.

  Miheel sidled up to a Seraph at the edge of the crowd. “Rafeel!” he hissed.

  Rafeel glanced at him. “What do you want, Dineel?” he demanded, puzzled and annoyed.

  Miheel glanced around and lowered his voice. “‘Who heeds the cries of the herdfish in the night?’”

  Rafeel stared at him in shock. Recovering, he too glanced around before speaking in an even more hushed tone. “You, Dineel? I would never—” He shook his head. “‘Another of its kind.’”

  “‘And so the lost one is found.’” Miheel gave an urgent flick of one middle fin. “Come with me somewhere private.”

  “All right.” Rafeel still seemed baffled, but he followed Miheel toward the corridor, until they emerged into the light. He froze and stared at Adrian, his body rigid with horror. “Fereel? That’s impossi—”

  For an instant Miheel let his disguise flicker, showing his true face to Rafeel. Poor Rafeel was more confused than ever, although at least his fear seemed somewhat eased. “Mi—? I don’t understand.”

  Miheel snapped Dineel’s visage back in place right before a cluster of Seraphim passed them with only mildly curious glances.

  Rafeel made an effort and forced his features into calmness. As soon as they were once again unobserved, he ducked through a wall. Miheel and Adrian followed.

  They emerged into a narrow space filled with tubes and wires. Rafeel rounded on Miheel, his voice quiet but forceful. “Miheel, what’s going on? What could possibly be urgent enough to risk using Bleater signs in public? Assuming another’s form—are you trying to get us both hauled up before Corrections and exposed? And what’s Fereel doing here?” He glared at Adrian.

  Miheel flickered back into his true form. “I’m sorry, Rafeel. I had no choice.” He hesitated, then plunged on. “This isn’t Fereel.” He nodded to Adrian. “Show him.”

  Adrian took a deep breath and let his astral form return to his true appearance. He extended open hands to Rafeel. “Don’t be afraid. I come from the world you’re approaching. Miheel has agreed to help me save my people. I ask the same of you.”

  Rafeel backed away. “How do I know you’re really one of the aliens and not an Order Police in disguise?”

  Miheel moved from Adrian’s side to Rafeel’s. “He’s shown me things only one of the aliens could. He knows the full story of what happened when Gabeel took their part. Gabeel may still be alive, Rafeel!”

  Rafeel blinked and looked at Adrian with startled hope. “He may? How—”

  Muffled voices came from the corridor on the other side of the wall. “Impostor! We know you aren’t really Dineel! Reveal yourself or die!”

  Chapter 30

  After the first rush of terror, a strange calm washed over Adrian. His time was up. He hoped he’d accomplished enough to make his sacrifice worthwhile. But that was up to Miheel and Rafeel now, along with Ureel and the other Bleaters.

  He turned to Miheel, reaching for his fin tips. The Seraph let him grasp them, meeting his gaze. “Miheel, what’s the most
vulnerable part of the ship? Something that if I damaged or destroyed it, your leaders wouldn’t be able to reach Earth?”

  “I don’t know.” Miheel blinked at him. “I don’t think anything can stop us from reaching your planet now. Not as long as enough of us remain alive to carry out the deceleration.”

  Rafeel glanced at Miheel, gazed hard at Adrian, then reached a fin toward him. Adrian released one of Miheel’s to grasp it. Rafeel spoke with a questioning look at Miheel. “The navigation computer? The course has already been calculated, but there are constant small corrections.”

  Miheel considered. “Without it we could probably still reach Earth eventually using manual observations and calculations, but it would take much longer to readjust our course if we over- or under-estimate our deceleration.”

  “That will work.” Adrian felt a little dizzy. “I probably won’t be able to actually destroy it, anyway. I just need a plausible target.” He put all the force he could muster into his words. “You two can’t let anyone find out you had contact with me. You can only help us if your involvement stays a secret. Tell Ureel and the other Bleaters, if you’re sure you can trust them. Do whatever you can to hinder your leaders, but only if you’re certain it won’t lead to your discovery. We’re depending on you. Later others of my people will contact you so you can pass them information.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Miheel vowed.

  “We swear it,” Rafeel agreed.

  “Thank you.” Adrian took a deep breath. “Now show me how to get to the navigation computer.”

  Miheel put the images into his mind. It was simple enough. The colony ship was a larger version of the scout ship, a terraced cone with the sleeping tanks at the base and the control center at the peak. The navigation computer took up most of one wall of the highest chamber.