Losing Rageth had nearly killed him. There had been no goodbye. She’d simply faded away, and her body had rotted where she lay until he couldn’t bear it anymore and programmed the squillae to sweep the ship clean of all of the bodies.
And then he’d simply lived to keep the ship in the best order possible, so that when rescue came from Sectilius, Rageth’s legacy as one of the finest officers in the fleet would remain intact. That had been the only thing that kept him going during those long lonely years, even when enough time had gone by that he was fairly certain deliverance would not arrive from that quarter.
Then Jane had come.
Her empathy was a balm. He came to know in time that this was a common trait among the humans. Dr. Thomas Compton had also possessed it to a great degree, as had Dr. Ajaya Varma and Dr. Ronald Gibbs. The others less so, but still far more than the average sectilian.
And him? A kuboderan? What degree of empathy did he possess? He rumbled with laughter. He’d never given this a moment of consideration before now. He didn’t know his own people well enough to be able to say with any certainty. He only knew himself, and perhaps he did not even know himself well. This was a time for introspection.
But Brai suspected that life on his home world among wild, unfettered kuboderans was short but sweet and full of savage emotions—like the one Jane called love. That was stunning to consider.
He seemed to feel more since Jane had come. The difference within him was unsettling and complex. He didn’t understand it, but he thought it was good.
The truth was Jane’s warmth had nearly overwhelmed him when she’d arrived. He’d been broken, felt nothing for so long that he’d become consumed with her, possibly to a deleterious level. He’d also been greedy. He needed to find balance now if he was to serve her as she deserved.
He must stop feeling this selfishness toward her and petty jealousy toward any other in her orbit. It was not becoming of all that he had achieved. He was capable of more.
He would follow Jane’s lead, forge something deeper with all of the humans. Each of them was exceedingly unique with so much to offer. It was his job to learn their strengths so that he could draw on them when needed. In the coming months, that could be the difference between survival and extinguishment.
Today he’d learned how calm and methodical Dr. Ronald Gibbs could be in a crisis and how Dr. Ajaya Varma was able to eclipse distractions in order to focus every one of her senses on a patient in need—more so even than she realized consciously. Dr. Alan Bergen was willing to put himself in danger for the greater good even when he felt an antipathy to those he shared company with. In addition, his will to live in the face of poor odds was remarkably robust. All of the humans had a sense of trust that was unprecedented in his experience.
Brai felt a strong urge to move his body. Normally when he craved exercise, he would travel a familiar circuit. Starting at one end of the ship, he would fill his mantle to capacity and clamp down suddenly so he could feel the rush of speed until it petered out and he drifted slowly to the other end of the ship. How many times had he completed this regimen? Thousands? Millions? It required no thought. He could concentrate on other problems while he performed this routine.
He’d been stuck in a loop just like this. It was time to break out. He needed to find a way to shed the lingering pain in his body that was surely a manifestation of all of this angst. He wanted to be whole again.
He filled his mantle and held it, feeling the uncomfortable fullness for as long as he could, until his body vibrated, then let go, turning his funnel randomly so that he swooped and jetted in arcs. He let his eyes lose focus and just felt the unpredictable movement.
Several times he nearly hit the barrier, but turned away at the last moment, his tentacles grazing the glass and pushing off as he came to rest before surging again in another direction, sometimes headlong, other times tentacles first. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was moving.
He continued this way until his aching muscles and rumbling stomach demanded he stop. At first he felt wonderful, suction cups tingling, and he vowed he would work harder to get more vigorous exercise like this. The persistent bodily discomfort he’d been suffering since Jane had traveled to the Hator compound had finally left him. But as he stretched out a limb to trigger the mechanism that would drop a serving of food into his tank, his arm trembled and the muscle seized up painfully.
He was taken aback. That had never happened before. He flexed the arm carefully until the spasm eased. As he moved back toward the food depositor, he noted a pervasive feeling of malaise.
Surely this was just caused by hunger. He triggered the mechanism, but was left with a sensation of disquiet, as though there were something important he was forgetting. As he carefully brought the solid cubes to his beak, he dismissed that and resumed his consideration of the humans.
They continued their trip up Atielle’s Ladder unimpeded. The cabin was nearly silent, most of the individuals beginning to relax, to believe the danger had passed, subsiding into sleep or torpor to cope with the long, uneventful journey. There was nothing to see through the windows but the stars, and the newness of that had already worn off for most of them.
Jane and Dr. Ronald Gibbs remained vigilant, poring over all the data the small ship provided. He was linked to them, monitoring that same data as well as multiple sources of his own. He would not rest until they were safely aboard, and might not even rest then.
Brai was aware that Doctor Alan Bergen fought exhaustion to stay alert in case of changing circumstance, but the man kept him at a distance.
It was true that Doctor Alan Bergen had developed a strong dislike for him. And why shouldn’t he? Brai knew that Dr. Alan Bergen craved privacy, and yet that was something Brai had found nearly impossible to give.
Brai’s entire world consisted of an artificial environment that never changed. His life experience came from others on the outside. He craved mental contact like he craved oxygen. And he’d been alone so long. Surely Dr. Alan Bergen didn’t realize what that meant.
Even so, Brai would have to try harder to honor Dr. Alan Bergen’s wishes, to be warmer, more like Jane. Perhaps in time the man could learn to trust the kuboderan as he’d learned to trust Dr. Ronald Gibbs so unconditionally. He did not harbor any illusions. It would not happen quickly. However, it was a worthy goal.
He could be patient. The desired outcome was worth it.
Brai turned the food cube he was eating over and over between his suction cups, considering. A piece broke off and without thought one of his tentacles shot out to capture it before it floated away to foul the tank and put undue pressure on the water-filtration system.
Brai brought the crumb of food to his beak and contemplated his own long life, conjuring sentiments he didn’t indulge in often. Gratitude, primarily. He was alive. He was no longer alone. He had a crew.
Brai hadn’t started from scratch with a new crew since he was very young. As Do’Brai he’d served as navigator for a small supply ship to the colonies. He’d forgotten how lonely and awkward those early years had been and how it took seemingly interminable amounts of time for trust and connection to build. Lately he’d been so distracted by grief and then consumed with the joy of the arrival of the human expedition, and then there had been the test and the training and all that had come after. He’d forgotten this important lesson.
In the early days of his career there had been many painful lessons. He’d had to learn to segment his mental processes. The mind masters made grand attempts to teach young kuboderans that level of control, but reality was far different from scholarly exercises. Learning to converse and interact with multiple individuals as they fleetingly passed in and out of his awareness on their own whims while simultaneously overseeing and managing an entire ship—that had taken time and experience. He’d made mistakes, early on, some of them quite costly, but that was why young kuboderans were put on small ships when introduced to the fleet—less was at risk, both in term
s of lives and financial investment.
Brai tasted the water with his suction cups, seeking bits of food that might have escaped his attention. A disturbing thought struck him. What if they had come here and found that Sectilius had not fallen? What if the atellans had decided to take control of the ship? Where would he be then? Where would Jane be? How would he have responded to that?
Deep down he knew the answer. He would not be separated from her. He would become a traitor to his heritage to keep her safe.
Brai was wary of the atellans coming aboard. He probed them carefully as they moved into range and quickly felt he knew their motivations well. In due time he would see if he was right about them.
Tinor Fotep Sten was young, curious, optimistic, and promising. Medical Master Schlewan Umbrig of Caillea was practical and businesslike—harmless, a very typical sectilian individual, accustomed to ship life.
Gistraedor Dux Jaross Rageth Hator was not unlike her namesake, his very own Rageth, though perhaps less generally aware of others and significantly less compassionate. She was young, however, and had never been aboard ship. The experience of anipraxia would change her. That was inevitable.
Jaross’s chivalrous nature had been forged in a different crucible, however. She had no children, but she managed a large compound of her people that was clinging to survival against all odds in the aftermath of the plague. She had left her compound in the capable hands of a sibling. She’d joined the human crew because she felt the same starlust that his own Rageth had felt. She had endured a frustrated longing her entire life. And she liked Jane, was intrigued by Mind Master Ryliuk of Mebrew. She would not pass up this opportunity. This was a motivation he could understand.
On the other end of the spectrum, Gistraedor Dux Pledor Makya Sten was crudely ambitious. This was apparent to all who knew him. Under Brai’s scrutiny, the former Gis’dux’s motivations were transparent. He’d changed his mind about the ship and intended to find a way to usurp the Speroancora, to use it to bring his own compound and people to prosperity.
Brai would never allow that to happen. The atellan leader had forced his way on board and would be watched scrupulously. Jane was perceptive enough to be leery of him. Brai would not burden her with the details of his ambition until she reached the ship and safety.
The unknown entity was Mind Master Ryliuk of Mebrew. Brai had known many mind masters during his early training, when he had been young and naive. Having one aboard a ship of this size and class would be considered unusual, since the masters mainly resided on the hidden planet where Brai’s people were harvested and tutored.
Master Ryliuk was powerful and well trained. His mind was orderly and well segmented. He was capable of deflecting Brai’s probes or obfuscating his own intentions. He appeared not to be doing this now, but Brai could not be sure this was authentic.
Master Ryliuk presented himself as a restless wanderer who was grateful to resume some semblance of his former life. He appeared to be committed to Jane’s cause—finding and rescuing the stranded kuboderans scattered across the universe, helping them recover from their trauma so they could serve again, to help defend and rebuild Sectilius.
This selfless gesture notwithstanding, the mind master warranted strict observation as well. Brai would probably never be fully assured that Master Ryliuk was harmless, simply because of who he was—his participation in the old system meant he subscribed to the core beliefs that all mind masters shared.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Ei’Brai.”
The interjection of Master Ryliuk’s mental voice took Brai by surprise.
Brai’s limbs went completely still. He forgot to breathe. He’d thought that at this distance his musings were entirely his own.
He meticulously shuttered away his every thought on every last level.
He would not be so careless again.
37
Alan struggled to stay awake in case Jane needed him. He stared blankly over her shoulder, blinking owlishly. He didn’t have the energy to try to exclude the Squid anymore. Ei’Brai was there, keeping tabs on all of them, but not in an intrusive way, which actually felt reassuring instead of annoying for a change.
They were under constant acceleration now, which created a force on their mass that felt like gravity, but technically wasn’t. It was a long way from the upper reaches of the mesosphere, where they’d stopped to repair the station, to the high orbital station where they would uncouple from the elevator in order to traverse the short distance to the waiting Speroancora.
There wasn’t much to occupy his mind, which made the task of staying awake more difficult. He was trying not to think about Jane so that he could keep his thoughts private. He had no idea how much others could see and he was too exhausted to try to figure it out now. He realized that not practicing this crazy telepathy business put him at a disadvantage, and he didn’t like that.
And yet, he wasn’t stupid. He realized that Ei’Brai had just played a huge role in saving his life.
Maybe that was why he softened a bit when the Squid’s voice softly murmured in his head, “Doctor Alan Bergen, you have my assurances that I will awaken you the instant something critical develops. Should you wish to subside into sleep, you will not miss anything pressing.” The Squid receded from his mind and waited for his reply from a distance. It was very unlike his previous behavior, which honestly had felt a lot like an energetic dog jumping on him to get his attention.
Alan cleared his throat and sat up a little bit. He was sore from his little excursion outside, so the movement made him grimace. He looked around over the tops of the seat backs. Everyone else, aside from Jane and Ron, had gone to sleep. Jane turned in her seat and nodded at him slightly. She was listening to this interchange. He nodded back, his mouth twisting in a frown.
“Okay,” he said to the Squid, reluctantly. “The second something happens, though.”
“Of course. You will perform better in a crisis if you are well rested. This is a human necessity. It is for the greater good of all.”
Alan settled back into the bench seat, careful not to sprawl on Ajaya, who was neatly arranged next to him, dozing. He was so tired he’d have no trouble sleeping. The Squid actually had a point. Curiosity tugged at him, though. “What about you? Don’t you sleep?” His eyes were already closing.
The Squid’s voice softened even more. It was oddly soothing. “I do, of course, but in stages. Never all at once. I am able to always be on alert. It is one of the many evolutionary advantages of my species.”
Alan blinked his eyes open again, but he couldn’t keep them open. Huh. He’d heard dolphins did that—slept with only part of their brains at any given time so they could keep swimming and be on the watch for predators. That was pretty badass…
* * *
When he woke he had no idea how much time had passed. The first thing he noticed was that his arms were drifting in front of his body. Then he noted the sensation of feeling light and suspended. The only thing keeping him in place were the straps holding him against the seat. They were in microgravity then. He huffed and rubbed his face. After the ten-month journey to the Target, he’d reached a point where microgravity felt just as natural as gravity, so this didn’t seem strange at all.
He squeezed his eyes shut hard and blinked, trying to shake off the grogginess and assess where they were and what was happening. They were no longer under the force of acceleration and clearly had passed geostationary orbit, below which they would still have been under the effects of Atielle’s gravity to some degree.
Ajaya was seated next to him and took his vitals and so forth. He tried waving her off, but she wouldn’t be denied, so he ignored her, craning his neck to see what was going on while she patted and prodded him.
He gathered from the mental chatter that they were approaching the high orbital station now. It was the end of the line, so it was shaped like a giant disk instead of a doughnut like the low orbital station. It grew in size quickly, until he couldn’t
see stars anymore unless he looked out one of the side windows. Docking lights came on as they approached. This station was still fully functional.
Ajaya handed him a pouch of water. He sipped idly while he drank in the view of the enormous space station. It shared a lot of esthetic components with the Speroancora and the shuttle, including the extruded structures swooping across its surface. It looked undamaged from what he could see. At one time this station would have housed a large crew that oversaw traffic, shuttle repairs, and the maintenance of this section of the elevator itself. He wished they had a reason to go inside, though he guessed it was probably pretty spooky in there. There wouldn’t have been anyone left to clean up the bodies after the plague.
Jane docked the shuttle with the station and announced that she was beginning the decoupling process. He could feel the vibration of the mechanics disengaging from the cable, and the faint sounds of that transmitted through the cabin. It went off without a hitch, which was a relief. It was about time something was easy. When Jane turned the shuttle, he got a full view of the counterweight on the other side of the station. A small asteroid was tethered there.
Then the Speroancora filled the view through the windscreen and his chest tightened a little. He’d seen it several times now, but damn, that ship was a sight. He swallowed hard and glanced at Ajaya. She was staring at it too, the same kind of appreciation on her face.
And he could feel the rest of the NASA crew echoing the same feeling that made his heart whump in his chest: that effing-amazing ship was their home now.
No one was taking her from them. The Speroancora was theirs.
Confluence 2: Remanence Page 22
